Searching for a Reason
by lunarcaterpillar
Summary: Resubmission of an old story that got deleted from my account, speculative about events that happened after the end of the sixth season


Title: Searching for a Reason

Author: lunarcaterpillar

Rating: T for violence, sexual content and descriptions of torture

Spoilers: everything through Aliyah

Pairings: Tiva. Sort of. Mostly. I'll explain later

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended

Warning: This story is pretty dark. Just so you know.

The thermometer was reading at a fairly constant 100ish, at that moment 101.6. Tony didn't care. The city could fry itself to hell for all he cared. He had AC and his shades were drawn, so the only thing that bothered him was the shrieking of children outside in paddling pools and teenagers driving by listening to music so loud that their future children would have ear damage. If he had had his senses in order, he might have paused to wonder when he had gotten old.

But Tony was trying to spend as much of his free time without his senses in order as possible. His apartment was full of beer cans, some full, some half-drunk, most empty. There were also bottles that had contained other forms of alcohol. His reasoning was that the alcohol formed a cushion for his mind, so that if the name 'Ziva David' ever found its way in, he wouldn't have to feel the full impact all at once.

He had to be sober for work, of course. But that was a whole different story. Everyone was busy coping in his or her own way and didn't try to interfere with anyone else. Gibbs didn't give orders much anymore; Tony could anticipate what he wanted fairly well by now and also Gibbs was busy blaming himself for what had happened. It had to be said that Tony wasn't doing much to console him. Too much alcohol also helped to hold back the thought that, if Gibbs hadn't left her in Israel, it never would have happened.

Two weeks after they had gotten back from Israel, without Ziva, they had gotten word that there had been a plane crash just off the coast of Portugal. Mossad hadn't known if it was terrorists or not, but what they did tell them was that Ziva had been on that plane. There were no survivors.

Each member of the team was dealing with it differently; McGee had recently tripled his success in the writing world with a book that was now on the Oprah's Book Club list. He had written it under a female pseudonym, mostly his publisher's idea; it was the story of a young woman who, jaded and tired of life, comes to another country and finds both herself and a handsome young movie critic to fall in love with. On his days off he did interviews with fans and talk shows via the Internet.

Abby had been doing research into curses so that maybe she could remove the curse on the position of the dark-haired-woman-on-the-team-that-Tony-flirts-with. It wasn't really necessary at the time because Gibbs wasn't allowing anyone else on the team, although they got a request at least once a week. She also reminded everyone who came to her lab that life was only preparation for death and therefore anyone who died was only fulfilling what they had been on the earth to do in the first place. She then asked if it seemed as if people had been avoiding her because she was starting to feel really lonely down there in her lab.

Ducky was coping perhaps the best of anyone. When he had gotten the news, he had suggested that they go out into the Atlantic and say a few words in memorial. Gibbs had agreed, although no one had wanted to. It was hard to think of Ziva as being dead when they had barely gotten used to her being in Israel. But they had gone and it had helped a little. Still, Tony hadn't been able to say what he wanted, even afterwards when he was alone and staring out at the water. There didn't seem to be a point. Tony believed in an afterlife, but didn't put much stock in the idea that the dead could see and hear everything that the living said and did. Even if she could, what did it matter? They were still separated. Sure, he could say that he loved her and he was the stupidest, blindest and most undeserving idiot that ever walked the planet. It wouldn't do either of them any good. It was over and he had missed his chance.

So he turned to drinking and, a little later, porn. For the first time in his life, he wasn't all that interested in the real thing. Even if he could work up the motivation to be his old self and go out and hook up for a night, his mind would try to turn that woman into Ziva. He did it already with every woman he saw; dark-haired, olive-skinned women were obvious, but he saw blonds who had her eyes, redheads who walked like she did, young women who talked like her, old women who had the same serious expression hiding pain-filled memories. So he watched it on his TV or computer. As often as Ziva had probably slept with men for the sake of gathering intelligence and had offered to sleep with him for something she wanted, he still couldn't connect her with the women he saw there. She was way too good for that. Although, some evenings when he had been drinking far too much and had drifted into a place between sleep and awake, she would come to him; she would walk in and turn off the TV, shaking her head with disgust, and come and sit beside him. Her hand would brush his face and she would smile and, bringing her lips close to his ear, whisper, "Did you miss me, Tony?"

Then he would wake up, look around at the dark room, lit only by the static-filled TV screen, and remember that the woman he loved was gone and he had let her go. Then the cycle would start over.

It was Friday and Tony knew that, hot as it was, he was going to need beer. Alcohol, unlike porn, could not be gotten digitally. So he set out for the liquor store. What with it being a Friday in the summer, it took him twenty minutes to drive a few blocks and only the thought of a weekend left to himself kept him from running his car into the multiple people who cut him off. He went in and started getting what he needed when he saw out of the corner of his eye, a woman, one with long dark hair.

_Damn_ it.

He was so tired of it. He was sick of watching women that he knew could not be her, waiting for them to turn around so he could see their faces. He was sick of it, but he did it anyway; he glanced at the face of the woman and found that she looked more like Ziva than most. It was a minute before he realized that he had seen her before. She had passed him on the street earlier that week when he had been checking out a suspect's workplace and just Thursday she had been sitting beside him at a red light. He hoped she didn't remember him as he had probably stared at her the same way he was doing now. She glanced at him and her eyes met his. They were very pretty eyes; big and brown like Ziva's had been. He wanted to talk to her, but knew it was pointless. She was not Ziva and looking for her to be was foolish and would only disappoint both of them. Then she talked to him first.

"Going to do it this time?" she asked him.

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, we're both here in a place and situation where we can talk; go ahead and ask me out." She smiled sweetly at him. He still looked clueless. "Oh, c'mon; there's no guarantee that we're going to meet like this again. And you've been staring at me all week."

"Oh, that—I'm sorry for that; I wasn't wanting to ask you out—I mean," he added quickly, trying to find a way to explain himself without insulting her. "I mean, I was staring and you're very pretty and everything and if I didn't have another reason I'd be staring just for that reason, but I was staring mostly because you remind me of someone." He smiled apologetically. She glanced at the amount of alcohol he was carrying.

"Old girlfriend?"

"Well, not exactly; it's—well, it's kind of complicated—"

"Oh; someone you liked for a long time but you just got up the courage to tell her and she shot you down."

"No—well, it did go something like that. It's just that—I never did get the chance to tell her."

"She got married or something?"

"Um—well, she's dead." The woman's eyes widened with surprise.

"Wow," she said. "I'm sorry. And—I guess I'm sorry that I look like her. I must have brought up some sad memories."

"That's ok; don't feel bad. They weren't all bad memories. Sometimes the only reason that I went to work was so I could talk to her."

"Did she die on one of your cases?"

"What?"

"I imagine NCIS gets into some pretty dangerous stuff." Tony stared at her in surprise.

"How did you know I work for NCIS?" he asked her.

"When I saw you earlier this week you were wearing your hat," she said.

"I was?" It had been Monday and Tony's memory was kind of fuzzy but he had thought he had remembered to take it off. The woman smiled.

"You know, alcohol kills a lot of brain cells," she said. "And I'm thinking that you really shouldn't lose many more. Would you care to take me out for coffee instead?" Tony thought for a minute. He wasn't sure how wise it was to be going out with someone who looked so much like Ziva; his mind might mix them up. On the other hand, it had been almost two months since Ziva had died. Maybe it was time he at least tried to rejoin the human race. So he smiled his flirtatious smile in agreement.

"I'm Marika," the woman said.

"Tony. Where did you have in mind?"

"There's a coffee shop just down the street. It's not going to bother you that I look so much like your girlfriend, is it?"

"Co-worker. And let me just ask you two questions; are you Israeli?"

"No. My background is Czech."

"Do you like knife-throwing?"

"I'm terrified of knives." Marika made a face in surprise. "Your co-worker must have been an…interesting woman."

"You have no idea. But see, knowing all that has put you in a completely separate place in my head. You don't have to worry." He offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

After an hour with Marika Sullivan, Tony had learned a frightening thing; he was turning into McGee. Apparently he had a sort of database of everything Ziva in his head and could compare it to everything Marika said. She like to cook (like Ziva) but only Mexican and Italian food (Ziva cooked all kinds of things). One of her hobbies was singing (Ziva could sing) and she liked to perform with a local theater group (Ziva would rather die). She preferred tea to coffee and was currently sipping a cup of Darjeeling. And she didn't seem to have a problem talking about herself.

"Ok," she finally said, as Tony brought her another cup of tea. "I've told you everything about me, Tony DiNozzo. Now it's your turn."

"Well," Tony said, adding sugar to his coffee. "there's really not much to say at the moment. I'm not adjusting well to change and so I have been driven by grief onto a path of self-destruction involving photographic images of naked women and lots and lots of alcohol. To be honest, I'm surprised that you asked me out."

"I didn't ask you out," Marika said. "I suggested that you ask me out. There's a difference."

"I don't believe it," Tony said. "I was being perfectly honest with you and yet you're still flirting with me. I haven't met many people who will do that."

"Your coworker was one of them?"

"She found me disgusting. But she was still hopelessly drawn to me because—let me be honest—I'm a shallow jackass but there is just something that women seem to like about that, so I've never found a reason to change."

"Would you have changed for her?" The question blindsided Tony and for a minute he stared at a picture of coffee beans on the wall looking for an answer.

"Can't say," he finally said. "At least—I never did. If we were together…maybe. But I'll never know now."

"You really loved her, huh?"

"Yeah. I did." He paused. "Listen, maybe we can talk about something else? This is supposed to be a date, not a therapy session, right?"

"Yes," Marika said. "Sorry for interrogating you. Honestly, I've been taken in before by guys who say they're in the throes of grief and all that and they need a beautiful kind woman to save them from the memory—you know the drill. Just wanted to know you were telling the truth."

"Believe me; I couldn't use Ziva to score with women. She'd probably manage to come back and kill me somehow." Marika smiled and then glanced at her watch.

"Hey," she said. "This has been great, but I need to go; a neighbor of mine is going on vacation and I'm catsitting so I need to go over there. And you have got to see this cat; it is the fattest thing you've ever seen. So, at the risk of sounding sleazy, would you like to come over this weekend?"

"How about this?" Tony said. "We have dinner tomorrow and then I come over, see the—wait what did you say?" Marika repeated what she had said about catsitting. "After that. The last sentence."

"I said 'at the risk of sounding easy—'"

"Sleazy. You said sleazy." She gave him a funny look.

"Slip of the tongue. Does it really matter?"

"_I said no; I don't want him to think I'm sleazy."_

"_The term is 'easy'."_

"_What's the difference?"_

"_Mostly the makeup."_

"Sorry," Tony said. "Just reminded me of something. So, tomorrow night?"

"Sounds great." Marika tried to stand up but was held back by her skirt catching on the chair. "Damn it; this was my favorite skirt."

"Hold still," Tony said, pulling out his pocket knife. Then he remembered her fear of knives. "Maybe you should try not to look." But he didn't get the chance to cut the string; Marika grabbed the knife from him and cut it herself.

"Ah," she said as she stood up and handed the knife back. "Thank you."

"I thought you were afraid of knives," he said, looking at her strangely.

"I told you, it's my favorite skirt. No offense, but I didn't trust you with it. So, do you want to pick me up or meet me there?"

"I'll pick you up." Marika wrote down her address on a piece of paper. He walked her back to their cars in the liquor store parking lot; he opened the door for her and she got in with a seductive smile. As Tony walked back in to finish buying his beer, he realized that Marika hadn't actually bought anything. Almost like she had gone there on purpose to see him.

Weird. Like something Ziva would have done.

He realized that now he was going to need some extra beer.

Title: Searching for a Reason

Author: lunarcaterpillar

Rating: T for violence, sexual content and descriptions of torture

Spoilers: everything through Aliyah

Pairings: Tiva. Sort of. Mostly. I'll explain later

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended

Chapter Two

Tony managed to get some sleep when he got home, but he woke up in the middle of the night, got up and started pacing. Could he be going crazy?

"Ziva cannot be alive," he kept telling himself. "This is just my brain screwing with me. I just want her to be alive so badly that I want to believe it."

Of course he had to admit that Mossad had never been the most trustworthy organization they worked with. They could have lied.

But if Marika _was_ Ziva, what was she doing there? And why hadn't she told him?

Everything could be explained. Marika really had just said the wrong words. And maybe she had just said that she was afraid of knives to be more girly and not threaten his masculinity. And she had gone to the liquor store just to meet him purely for reasons of attraction. Or she had forgotten to buy what she had come for. He had to be just going crazy. This was no different than someone believing that they had seen their dead loved one somewhere. Ducky had said before that it wasn't uncommon.

Maybe he should break it off with Marika. It wasn't fair to her and it couldn't be good for him. He was going to end up in the psych ward at Georgetown if he wasn't careful.

But what if it was…

Tony smacked himself on the head. Several times. This was worse than talking to Kate inside his head. This was a full-fledged break with reality. Maybe he should take a vacation or something. Or even find somewhere else to work. Maybe the effect of coming to work every day and knowing she wasn't there was wearing on him. Certainly he hadn't been dealing with her death well anyway.

Or maybe there was a way to prove to himself that Marika wasn't Ziva. Forgetting sleep, Tony started forming a plan.

At 1730, an hour before they were supposed to have dinner, Tony called Marika.

"Hey," he said. "This is Tony. How's the fatass cat?"

"He's fine. Been sitting around doing nothing all day. How are you?"

"Well, I have kind of a problem. See, my car broke down today and it'll be in the shop till Tuesday at the earliest. I'd still love to keep our date, though, if you wouldn't mind driving."

"Sure." Tony told her his address. "I'll be there to pick you up at six."

"See you then," Tony said and hung up.

Marika arrived at 1800, right on time. Tony noted in his head that she hadn't used military time on the phone.

"Hop in," she said. Tony got in and they went through the pleasantries of 'how was your day' and all that.

"It's been interesting at work," he said. "You know I told you that my co-worker Ziva was the liaison with Mossad?"

"Yes." Tony's heart jumped a little. He had never told her that.

"So you know what Mossad is?"

"I assume it's some intelligence organization in Israel."

"Right. Well, we have a new guy. I've only met him a couple of times, but I don't think he likes us much. He keeps calling me _mefager_ or something like that." Marika suddenly started to cough. Tony couldn't be sure, but it sounded somewhat artificial, like the kind of cough you faked when you were trying not to laugh.

"You know any Hebrew?"

"Not a word. Wouldn't know it if I heard it."

"Hmm. Guess you couldn't tell me what it means then. Oh, get over; it's this exit."

Marika swerved the car and hit the gas pedal, bounded over the white lines, barely missed the barrier and jumped in front of one of the cars on the access road. She got a lot of honks.

"Nice," Tony said. "Not many people could do that."

"Well, I can't imagine having to turn around in this traffic. Where do I go now?"

"Turn here." His heart was pounding now. It wasn't possible…was it? If it were Ziva, she wouldn't have lied to him for this long. And certainly Ziva was good enough not to blow her cover by acting like her former self. Besides, if she wanted to keep her cover, why would she be going out with him in the first place? Maybe she missed him. Right. Somehow he doubted it.

For the rest of the drive, Marika drove as demurely as his grandmother. If Ziva had been able to do that, she had never given them a demonstration. She parked neatly near the entrance and they got out and went inside, Tony fighting with himself the entire time about how crazy this whole thing was.

"Know what you want?" he asked her, when they were seated.

"Hmmm. The spinach and tomato Mediterranean pizza sounds good." Ziva didn't like spinach. "You?"

"Hmmm." He looked at his menu. Was it really right to keep baiting her? "Maybe one of these salads." Marika laughed.

"Are you serious, Tony?" she said.

"What?" he asked.

"You don't—you don't look like the kind of guy who eats salads. I took you for more like the meat and potatoes type."

"I'm trying to improve my diet, if you must know; you should have heard the tongue-lashing I got from my doctor the last time I went for a physical and he drew my cholesterol levels."

"Good for you," she said. "In fact, why don't we both get salads? Then you won't be tempted by my food." She smiled at him. "I'll get the Italian salad—do you like Mandarin oranges?"

"Love them." This was not what he had expected; he hadn't actually planned on getting a salad.

"Then you can have the Asian one. One Italian salad and one Asian salad—with fat-free dressing; my friend here is watching his cholesterol," she said to the waitress.

"Oh, good job," the girl said, smacking her gum. "Man, you've got some willpower. We have our special cheeseburger pizza—the best in DC—for the last time this summer and no one has ordered anything else. I applaud you. What to drink?"

"Two waters," Marika said, before Tony could open his mouth. He smiled back at her, inwardly weeping for the best cheeseburger pizza in DC.

"So, Marika," he said, when the waitress left. "You never told me what you do for a living."

"Oh, nothing so exciting as working crime scenes," she said. "I work in the office of one of the high schools here. Administrative assistant; I'm basically a secretary."

"These days, working in a high school can be just as bad," Tony said. "We had a case once where a fifteen year old threatened to blow up the building. I, uh, had to take him out. It was the only way to save the kids. Ziva, my partner, was there; she told me I should. She was right."

"That's awful," Marika said. Tony watched her face closely; if she knew the truth—that Tony hadn't ordered the snipers to take the shot and the boy and all the students had gotten out alive—she didn't show it.

Tony stopped trying to make up traps for awhile. He tried to make normal conversation and to enjoy his salad (this was harder for him than anything else). It was nice, except for the salad, and he tried to forget his Ziva theory. Maybe he had just flipped out a little at a string of coincidences and…

_Coincidences_.

But Gibbs didn't know everything. And he liked Marika; he wasn't in love with her or anything, but at the least she was good company and maybe his display of willpower had made enough of an impression on her that she would make it worth his while to have eaten rabbit food for dinner. Oh, who was he kidding? He couldn't sleep with Marika. Not unless she was ok with being called another woman's name all the way through it. But he was going to have to get back in the game sometime. Maybe Marika would understand. He would just have to watch himself very closely.

He decided this was the best option when Marika looked at him somewhat suggestively and asked if he still wanted to come over and see the cat. He agreed and they drove to her apartment. Her driving was impeccable. Tony was beginning to be convinced that he had just had an attack of the crazies. It was to be expected, right? The brain was funny that way. And naturally, now that he had a chance at scoring, it was going away.

The cat was waiting for them inside. It was Persian and must have weighed at least 25 pounds. It glared at Tony behind its smushed-up nose.

"I try to feed him that diet cat food," Marika said. "But I guess it doesn't make much of a difference. Make yourself at home."

Tony sat down on her sofa. The cat allowed him to pet him, probably more because he lacked the motivation to get up than that he liked him.

"Well, Tony," Marika said, sitting beside him. "We both know why we're here. Or at least you're hoping you know. I just have a couple of questions for you; are you ok with being with someone who looks so much like your dead co-worker?"

"I thought you might bring that up," Tony said. "And the truth is—I'm not sure. I mean, I can do it, but I might, you know, get confused."

"I'm not feeling threatened; she is dead after all. Would you like a drink?"

"Sure," Tony said. Marika kept talking as she went into the kitchen off to the side.

"I understand that it must have been hard for you, especially with it being something like a plane crash. You never do really get a chance to say goodbye." Still sitting on the couch, Tony looked a little startled. Then started to smile.

"No," Tony said. "I never did. But…I guess I'm lucky."

"Why's that?" She handed him one of the bottles of beer she was holding. He didn't move, just looked at her for a moment.

"I get a second chance." He took the bottle from her. "_Toda._"

She returned his look. "_Al-lo-davar_."

"Ziva…" He stared at her, drinking in the presence of the woman he loved so deeply. "It's you."

She gave him a funny half-smile. "It's me."

Title: Searching for a Reason

Author: lunarcaterpillar

Rating: T for violence, sexual content and descriptions of torture

Spoilers: everything through Aliyah

Pairings: Tiva. Sort of. Mostly. I'll explain later

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended

Chapter Three

Tony stood up and started to wrap his arms around her, but stopped and grabbed her by her shoulders.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded. "You let me go on like an idiot for two nights in a row and you didn't tell me it was you? Oh, Ziva." He finally got his arms all the way around her. "I missed you so much. You cannot imagine how much I missed you."

"Yes, I can," Marika/Ziva said. "I missed you too, Tony. Thinking of you was sometimes the only thing that kept me going. It's…been kind of hard these past few months. What gave me away?"

"Well, there were lots of things, but mostly I know good and well I never told Marika that you died in a plane crash. And I couldn't think of any other reason for her to know such a thing than if she were you."

"I knew you would figure it out sooner or later."

"Ok," Tony said. "Before we get any farther, you're going to have to tell me why you don't look like yourself anymore. Plastic surgery or something?"

"Something like that," Ziva said. "You see, Tony, after you left, I—well, let's just say Mossad was not happy with me for what happened. They didn't believe that you had killed Michael. They believed that it was me." Her face became dark with memories. "And because I would not give them any information about NCIS, they tried to take it by force."

"Force?" Tony repeated. "As in…torture?" Ziva didn't reply, but she looked away and shuddered a little. "How did you get away?"

"I escaped," she said simply. "Mossad was looking for me all the time. So I went to a friend who owed me a favor and—" She gestured to her new appearance. "Not bad, yes?"

"You don't think they would still be able to recognize you, do they?" Tony asked, thinking of how he had immediately thought of Ziva when he had seen her.

"Maybe. But I also have a very strong cover and hopefully they will not be able to penetrate it."

"You probably shouldn't be seen with me, then," Tony said. She looked at him and he couldn't read her expression.

"Well," she said. "One of the reasons I contacted you was that…I need your help. This new Mossad officer; I need to know what he is doing. Since they wanted inside knowledge on NCIS from me, I suspect that it is something that will not help either of our countries."

"Ok," Tony said. "I can get you in and give you access to anything that's not encrypted. For that you would need McGee or Abby."

"No," Ziva said. "It's better if no one else knows that I am here. If the new officer knew about me, Mossad could easily track me. And I cannot be seen."

"I can take out the cameras easy enough," Tony said. "How long will it take you?"

"I just need to get the information onto this." Ziva held up a flash drive. "I can decrypt it later. And it will leave no record of the information having been downloaded. Perhaps…fifteen minutes?"

"Sure," Tony said. "The night shift tech guys are idiots; it'll take them an hour probably to get all the cameras back online. And I'll let them see me come in and leave so they won't get suspicious that someone else got in." Ziva put her arms around him and hugged him.

"Thank you so much, Tony," she said. "It is so good to be with people who don't treat you like a traitor."

"By the way," Tony said, still holding her. "What was that other reason?"

"What?"

"The other reason you made contact with me."

"Oh." She pulled out of his arms. "Well, I told you. I missed you very much."

"Seriously? Even after what I did to your fiancé?"

"I may be still angry, but that doesn't mean I don't want to see you. I never loved Michael the way I—" Tony turned to look at her.

"The way you what?" he asked, daring to hope.

"The way I hoped I would. You know, it was my father's idea. I had known Michael for some time and we were good friends, but not lovers. I hoped that I would grow to love him. But I never did." Tony's face had fallen. This was the time for the grand gesture that he had planned, but he couldn't seem to make himself. It wasn't the time for it, if she was in real trouble.

"Ziva, I have to tell Gibbs. You know I do."

"If you must," Ziva said.

"Don't you want to see everyone? Let me call them. We'll all go to my place and it'd be just like they were just coming to meet my new girlfriend or something. I mean, you know, like you _were_ Marika and all that." Ziva's eyes brightened for a moment, then went dark again.

"I cannot do it right now, Tony," she said. "I can't just go back and pretend the past few months never happened. Let me do my job; then I will be able to think about everyone else."

"Ok. So you're pretty much stuck here?"

"One more thing I purposefully have not thought about."

"Stay here, with us. We can protect you. Ziva, please don't make us lose you again." She didn't reply and Tony's expression softened.

"How badly did they hurt you?"

"It is one thing to be interrogated by someone who hates you and everything you stand for, and quite another by those you thought were on your side and who were your friends." She stared at the floor. "The physical pain I can handle. But…I gave up everything for my country. And now I am no longer welcome there. It hurts like nothing I have ever felt before." Tony tried to put an arm around her, but she shook him off.

"Would it be possible to go tonight?" she asked him. "I need the information quickly if I am to do anything about it."

"Ok," Tony said. "We can go in about midnight. A lot of times there's a glitch in the cameras when the date switches over. When should I come get you?"

"I will wait for you at the bus stop five streets down at 2330. Now, you should probably go. Someone could be watching you. Pretend I'm still Marika Sullivan and we were just having sex after our date. How long would you be here?"

"Not much longer," Tony said, glancing at the clock. "We'd be done by now and—well, did you want to cuddle for awhile?" Ziva gave him a look. "Ok. Minus the cuddling, I'd probably be getting ready to go."

"And I still have to drive you home," Ziva said. "Alright. Let's go."

It was the same old Ziva driving on the way to Tony's apartment. Tony didn't say anything because he couldn't think of anything to say. The words he longed to say to her rang in his head. And he had to tell her sometime. Maybe when this was done; would she at least hear him out? It wasn't like she had anywhere else to go. Actually, this worked out nicely; her obligations to Mossad were over and maybe she could live like a normal person. With him.

They got to his apartment and Ziva parked the car.

"I'll see you tonight," Tony whispered. "I'm really glad you're back." Then he got out of the car. Ziva followed him out, walked around, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. It was completely unexpected and Tony didn't have time to enjoy it. Just a brief touch of her lips on his, the warmth of her body close to him. It overwhelmed him and he just wanted to hold her there. But she had surprised him and he didn't have time to react. Before he could touch her, she pulled away.

"I had a great time, Tony," she said, with a playful smile. "We'll have to do it again. Call me." She got in her car and drove off.

Tony knew she was only doing it to keep up the cover that they were just two people who met randomly and were having a fling. But what was the harm in imagining that she was serious? Maybe someday she would be. He went inside to get a little sleep before they had to do midnight spy stuff.

Title: Searching for a Reason

Author: lunarcaterpillar

Rating: T for violence, sexual content and descriptions of torture

Spoilers: everything through Aliyah

Pairings: Tiva

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended

Chapter Four

Ziva was waiting for him, right on time. It was Tony who was running a little late. He had woken up from his nap and remembered that he was supposed to call Gibbs.

"She's changed completely?" Gibbs had asked, a little surprised. "Why?"

"Trying to hide from Mossad, I guess," Tony had said. "Not completely. She still looks like herself. Just some changes here and there; enough to throw them off the trail."

"Why didn't I know about this?"

"How should I know?"Tony had asked.

"I mean, from you. Why didn't you tell me the first time you met her?"

"I didn't know it was her. Do you want me to tell you every time I meet a brunette who looks Middle Eastern?"

"You must have known something or you wouldn't have tried to find out if she was Ziva."

"Ok, maybe I didn't want to say anything to you because I was convinced that I was going crazy," Tony had said, getting a little irritated. Gibbs had smiled, but only because Tony couldn't see it.

"We've all missed her, Tony," he had said. "I'll call Abby and McGee—"

"She told me she didn't want anyone else but you and me to know about her."

"In all the times we've had to rescue someone on this team, have you ever known us to be able to do it with only two of us? I'm calling them; we'll meet you there." He had hung up before Tony could say anything.

Ziva climbed into the car daintily. She looked even less like herself; she had put on a blond wig and was wearing a lacy yellow blouse and a white skirt under a light pink coat. Her shoes were bright pink strappy sandals with three-inch heels. Tony stared at her so long that the cars behind him started honking.

"You…look nice," he said, when he finally took his eyes off her and started driving again. "Are you still Marika?"

"Yes," she said. "If we meet anyone, I will pretend not to know them. Did you talk to Gibbs?"

"Yeah; he's going to meet us there. I'll go in first—"

"I'll stay out of sight—go to the bathroom or something—until you tell me it's clear—"

"You'll come in and I'll show you my station and then leave—"

"And if anyone asks, I'm just amusing myself playing Solitaire."

"So, after this," Tony said. "Are you…staying?"

"I don't know," Ziva said. "If I learn something—there may be things I will need to prevent. I may have to go back to Israel."

"No, Ziva," Tony said, with unusual fervor. "You're not going back. They'll kill you."

"They can't," Ziva said, with a smile. "I'm already dead, remember?"

Gibbs was waiting for them when they got to headquarters and slipped in the door right behind them, pretending he had just gotten there.

"DiNozzo!" he called. "This a normal part of your dating routine? Telling women you're in special ops again?" Ziva turned to him and pretended to be surprised.

"You mean you're not?" she asked him. Tony smiled and pretended he was just apologizing to a date.

"I may have been a little vague about the definition of 'special ops'" he said. "But I do work here and this is my boss, Special Agent Gibbs. Boss, this is a friend of mine, Marika Sullivan." Gibbs took her hand with a meaningful look.

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Sullivan," he said. "I hope Tony's been treating you right."

"Oh, he has," Ziva said. "Pleased to meet you, Agent Gibbs."

"You going to show her the squad room?" Gibbs asked Tony. "I'll go with you."

"Working late again, boss?"

"Never left," Gibbs said.

When they exited the elevator, Ziva asked Tony where the restroom was and he pointed her towards them.

"Don't worry about the cameras," Gibbs said to Tony. "I've already got McGee putting in a continual loop of old footage of you coming in with another date, so it'll match the logs. Take all the time you need. When you're done, come down to the lab. I think Abby would really kill you this time if she doesn't get to see…Marika."

"Got it, Boss. Thanks." He went to his desk, turned his computer on, then grabbed his waterbottle. On the way to the fountain to fill it up, he surreptitiously kicked at the door of the women's restroom. Ziva came out and they walked back to the desk together. Tony spent a minute getting everything ready on the computer.

"I need to go see about something," he said. "You can stay here for a minute. Check your email, play solitaire, whatever." He smiled at her. "Be right back."

Ziva worked quickly. Tony made a circle around the squad room and when he came back five minutes later, she was calmly moving cards around on the screen.

"Wow," Tony said, looking over her shoulder. "You're much better than I ever was." She smiled at him. "So, Marika, what do you think of my work?"

"It's not special ops but it's interesting enough that you've earned yourself another date. Tomorrow night, maybe?"

"Wouldn't miss it." Tony decided that, acting or not, he was holding her to that. Assuming she wasn't already out of the country. "Want to see our forensics lab?" Ziva gave him a look; he just shrugged with his face and mouthed 'Gibbs'.

"Sure," Ziva said. "Let's go. Will anyone be there this time of night?"

"Our forensic scientist lives on caffeine. She'll be there, believe me."

Gibbs, McGee and Ducky weren't even trying to keep Abby still. She was wandering around the room, occasionally pausing to bounce up and down on the balls of her feet while taking another big drink of Caf-Pow!. She had gone through three already since Gibbs had called her. When the elevator dinged, she about jumped to the ceiling and ran to the door, jumping up and down. She pounced on Ziva when she entered with Tony.

"I _knew_ you weren't dead," she said, her arms still wrapped around Ziva. "I knew it. I've been to, like, five séances already and nobody could contact your spirit. Oh, Ziva, we've missed you so much! We've been going crazy here without you!" She let her go, stood back and looked at her. "Wow, you look good as a blond," she said. "Next Halloween, we'll get you some high heels and we can go as the Olsen twins with arrows stuck through their heads!"

"It's good to see you again, Abby," Ziva said and hugged her again. "I'm so sorry about making you worry."

"We know you had nothing to do with it, my dear," Ducky said. Ziva let go of Abby and hugged Ducky.

"All the same, I am ashamed of what my countrymen have done. I hope everything will be mended soon." She turned to McGee. He was standing apart from the others giving her a doubtful look.

"It's me, McGee," she said to him. Still, he backed away from her when she started to come closer. "It's ok, Tim. I'm glad just to see you."

"Sorry, Ziva," he said. "It's—a lot to adjust to, with you being dead and then back and you don't look like yourself..."

"I understand. Thank you for your help." She smiled at him and he managed to smile back. "I'm sorry but I really can't spend that much time here. After this, I may have to disappear for awhile, maybe even leave the country."

"Why won't you let us help you, Ziva?" Abby asked. "You always did in the past. That's what we do; we're like a family. We, you know, keep each other out of jail."

"I don't think you can help me this time," Ziva said sadly. "And I won't risk any of you getting in trouble with Mossad. Please. Let me do this alone." Gibbs nodded to her.

"We'll be watching for you," he said. "We'll see you when you get back."

"Ok. Thank you all for everything. I will be thinking of you."

"And we of you," Ducky said. "Goodbye for now, Ziva." Abby hugged her again. Ziva smiled at all of them and then she and Tony left. The rest stood staring for a minute. Then Abby turned to McGee.

"Did you get everything?"

"Most of it." He turned to the computer onto which he had loaded the files from the flash drive that Abby had swiped and replaced during her hugs. McGee had been hiding it from her and so had had to stay in one place.

"That worries me." Gibbs went for the door.

"What do you mean, Boss?"

"As good as Ziva is, or used to be, I seriously doubt that a couple of lab nerds like you—no offense, Abbs."

"None taken, _el jefe_."

"—like you two could put one over on her. Either there's something wrong and she's lost most of her skills or she's in more trouble than she could tell us and she wanted us to take that flash drive. Abby, McGee—"

"You'll know the minute we break through the encryption."

"And what can I do, Jethro?" Ducky asked.

"How's good's your Hebrew, Duck?"

"Fair. I read it much better than I speak. I'm more of a visual learner, you see—"

"Good. Somehow I get the feeling these files are going to be in Hebrew. Stick around and help them translate."

"Certainly."

"What are you going to do?" Abby asked.

"Follow her," Gibbs said. "See if I can find out anything." With that, he left.

Title: Searching for a Reason

Author: lunarcaterpillar

Rating: T for violence, sexual content and descriptions of torture

Spoilers: everything through Aliyah

Pairings: Tiva

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended

A/N: You may at some point feel the urge to stop reading. Don't. It'll be ok, I promise.

Chapter Five

Tony drove Ziva home with his heart pounding in his chest the whole time. He had to tell her. He didn't think he could take another two or six or twelve months without her, not knowing if she was dead or alive, dreaming about her, watching every woman, wondering if it was her. He wasn't so self-confident that he thought she would forget everything she was there for simply because he was confessing his undying love, but he thought it might make a difference, might make her a little more careful if she thought she had a future with someone. And…he had to know if she loved him, too.

Instead of her—well, Marika's—apartment, he drove to his own. He was afraid that if she got out of the car and went inside, he would never hear from her again. And he had had enough of waiting and doing nothing, hoping that something would happen to drive them together. He would just tell her and whatever happened, happened.

"What are we doing here?" Ziva asked, when they parked. He had been so deep in his own thoughts he hadn't noticed her changing; apparently under the blouse and skirt she had on a white tank top and light blue shorts. The blond hair was gone, replaced by Ziva's own hair, soft mahogany locks. He would always stand behind her at the computer, leaning close so he could feel her curls against his face and neck, warm, seductive, inviting, making him want more of her. Like he did now.

"Thought you might like to come in, take a break, have a drink or something before you have to get to work on your spy stuff."

"Tony, I really don't have time for this. Take me back to my apartment."

"You expect me to do that, just let you walk away? Again?"

"I am sorry, Tony, but if I have to leave, I have to leave. It's my job."

"Isn't there anyone you can trust to do this for you? Why do you have to take care of everything?"

"Because the last time I trusted someone, I ended up tied to a chair with blood running down my face!" Ziva said. "Forgive me if I'm a little jumpy!"

"You trusted me."

"Did I?" She opened the door. "I'll take a cab."

"No, Ziva, wait." Tony got out and ran to her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it—whatever I said. Please; don't go. Don't leave like this. C'mon."

"Is there a reason you are treating me like I'm an upset girlfriend of yours?"

"Well, you are a woman and there's only so many things that I know to—you know what, forget I said that. Ziva, I'm just trying to help you. You said it's been hard for you these past few months. Can't you take a few days for a break?"

"No. I need to get to work as soon as possible."

"Well, can I help?" Ziva gave her squinting, confused look.

"Why are you being so persistent?"

"Because I don't want to lose you again!" Tony said. "You're going to go back to Israel to deal with all this; I realize that and I know I can't stop you. But I am not letting you go without you knowing that—I love you. I love you and I would do anything for you; I think I've loved you since the day you first came to NCIS and called me a porcupine." Ziva was staring at him, wide-eyed. After finally letting that go, Tony felt like he had just run a triathlon. "Are you—going to say anything?"

"You told me all this, when you still thought I was Marika Sullivan."

"You don't believe me?"

"When people die, you might start to…feel things you wouldn't really feel. And you're such a romantic about these kinds of things from your movies—you expect me to act like the women in them? Faint? Fall into your arms? I'm not sure why you told me this."

"Because you are obviously under a lot of stress, and there's a possibility you might not survive to come back here, and if something does happen, I didn't want you to go without knowing it." He moved a little closer to her; she looked at him cautiously, but took a step toward him. "I want you to know that you matter to someone. A lot." Ziva was still staring at him and she moved toward him again. "I want you to feel loved." They were almost close enough to touch. "So…do you?"

"Yes." Her eyes closed as his arms wrapped around her. He bend down and let his lips graze hers, like their kiss earlier, not wanting to overwhelm her. Then Ziva wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss. Tony was surprised again, but for this he took his time, taking in everything he could. When their lips separated, Tony continued to hold her close to him, pressing his cheek against hers.

"Want to come inside now?" he asked her.

"Why didn't you tell me before I left?" Ziva asked, once they were inside.

"Are you kidding?" Tony said. "Tell a woman I love her without at least six month's worth of denial and another six months of emotionally cowering in terror? Not Tony DiNozzo." He looked into her eyes and let the back of his hand stroke her face. "Am I to take it that you have some kind of feelings for me?"

"Oh, Tony, I do; since—forever." She gave him another of those kisses. Tony's heartbeat quickened and he felt desire start to burn. Through the kiss, he heard Ziva moan softly. His hand, seemingly of its own accord, had gotten under her tank top and was slowly moving up her back.

"Sorry," Tony started to say, and removed his hand; Ziva replaced it. Their lips separated; they shared a deep stare for a moment. Then, by mutual consensus, moved in the direction of his bedroom.

It was the usual post-sex routine; lying in bed, sweaty, a woman's arms around him. But this was different from any other time he had been there. It was Ziva's head on the pillow beside him, Ziva's fingers tracing designs on his chest, gazing at him with eyes that told him she had enjoyed it as much as he had. And he had. It had been everything he had been wanting and fantasizing about for years.

"Aren't you sorry we didn't do this sooner?" he asked her, stroking her hair.

"No," Ziva said. "It wouldn't have been the same. All you wanted then was sex."

"Yeah, ok, you have a point," he admitted. "What do we do now?"

"I wouldn't mind that cuddling now."

"No, I mean in general. What are you going to do now?"

"You said you understood that I had to go back regardless of how we feel about each other."

"Well, Ziva…I never really thought you would feel the same; I was just trying to get this off my chest so I could sleep at night." Ziva smiled slyly at him.

"Maybe tomorrow night," she said. Tony smiled and put his arms around her.

"That works for me," he said, and pulled her even closer to him. He liked her body. It was different than he remembered, from when they were undercover; apparently whoever had changed her face had made a few additions to some areas.

"Glad you like them, Tony," Ziva said, and they let everything disappear again.

Gibbs had followed them to Tony's apartment, gotten out and watched them talk. Then kiss. He'd gone for a walk after that, not wanting to feel like a voyeur and knowing that she was taken care of for the time being. McGee had called about twenty minutes after they had gone inside. They'd broken through the encryption and were now just trying to figure out what the files were; they would call back when they had something.

As soon as he hung up the phone, he grabbed his gun. He had heard something moving, in the bushes. It was probably just a stray cat, but his training forced him to be ready for anything. Then he heard the soft tick of a shoe on concrete. No stray cat there. He pulled his weapon to the ready and pointed them at the bushes.

"Federal Officer!" he said. "Come out with your hands up!"

There was more rustling as whoever it was moved through the foliage. The foremost branch moved and out came…a teenage kid, with a small box in one hand.

"Sorry, man," he said. "My sister's hamster ran in here and I haven't been able to find it. That illegal?"

"No," Gibbs said, lowering his weapon. "Go ahead and keep looking."

"On second thought, I think I'll just buy her a new one." The kid took off down the sidewalk. Gibbs sighed and wondered how many more of these cases he was going to have tonight. But he had to do it; if someone was after Ziva…

His phone rang. McGee. He put down his weapon and reached for his phone.

He knew, a second before. Then, with a blast of blinding white pain, his head hit the pavement.

Tony didn't want to take his hands off of Ziva. She was lying on her stomach, pretending to be asleep; he was lying beside her continuing to run his fingertips over the skin between her shoulder blades and onto her neck.

"You never get bored, do you, Tony."

"Not with you." She rolled over with a sleepy smile and kissed him.

"That's right," she said. "You've spent the last four years wanting to sleep with me, yes?"

"I don't mean just sex. I meant what I told you as Marika, that I came to work to talk to you, to spend time with you. What do you think I meant when I said I loved you?"

"I know. But I was referring to how you don't get bored with touching me."

"And you don't get bored with being touched." Ziva sat up with a sheet wrapped around her and looked down at him still lying on the bed.

"I'm going to have to go soon," she said. "I need to work on those files."

"I know," Tony said. "Do whatever you want. You think that tonight might happen again?"

"If I have to leave, I may not have time to see you again. But I will leave word."

"I'm going to miss you, Ziva." He brushed her hair back from her face; her cheeks were still warm and flushed. "You're so beautiful. And I—"

There was a loud noise and the sliding door to the balcony burst, sending glass chards everywhere. Tony grabbed Ziva, pushed her back down into bed and covered her with his body. Then he got up, grabbed his weapon from the bedside table and pointed it at the window. Nothing happened. He didn't see anything or hear another shot.

"What the hell?" he said. "Ziva, are you al—" Ziva's eyes were glassy; she was still lying on the bed, covered in bits of glass. And blood. The bullet had gone right through her chest.

"Ziva! ZIVA!" Tony didn't run to her. He knew she was dead, but he wouldn't touch her, wouldn't feel the blood draining from her body and make it too real in his mind. Instead, he ran to the broken window and peered out.

"Whoever you are," he shouted. "You better start running! Because you are dead!" He ran out the door, onto the balcony and maneuvered his way down to the ground. Then someone jumped on him and he felt his gun being pulled out of his hand.

"Are you going to kill me too?" he yelled. "Go ahead! Do it!"

"No one's going to kill anyone, DiNozzo." The voice was Gibbs.

"Boss." Somehow he managed to speak without getting choked up. "Ziva's dead. Someone shot her."

"I know."

"They just shot straight through my window; we were in bed."

"I know, Tony."

"You know?"

"Yes. Yes, I know. I got a call from McGee. She didn't go to Headquarters for files on Mossad. She went for files on us. And now there's a virus in the system transmitting all our information back to Mossad."

"Are you—are you saying that Ziva betrayed us?"

"No," Gibbs said. "That woman in there—that wasn't Ziva."

Title: Searching for a Reason

Author: lunarcaterpillar

Rating: T for violence, sexual content and descriptions of torture

Spoilers: everything through Aliyah

Pairings: Tiva

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended

A/N: Bits of this are a little bit gory.

Chapter Six

Tony's eyes were wide. "No, Boss," he said. "That was Ziva. I _know_ it was Ziva. Did you let her die because you honestly thought it wasn't her? I don't care how much she spies on us; it's still Ziva!"

"It wasn't Ziva," Gibbs repeated. "That was a Mossad agent sent in to pretend to be Ziva, infiltrate us, and get information on us. She went to you first because she knew you were the most vulnerable after Ziva's death."

"So," Tony said. "So Ziva really did die in a plane crash?"

"No," Gibbs said.

"How can you say these things?" Tony yelled. "You don't know! How can you say whether she's dead or alive?"

"I got my information from a very reliable source."

"Who's that?"

"Me." A voice behind Gibbs spoke. Tony wouldn't believe it. This felt like being in a bad movie, with cheesy, predictable plot twists. Of course, he hadn't been able to see it. But then he had thought that Ziva was the woman inside. He refused to believe that the woman he lived for, who meant the world to him, the woman he had thought he had been making love to a few minutes before was standing right in front of him.

"Her name was Elisheva Ben-Josef. We were good friends—as good as you can be in Mossad. While I was working here, we sometimes exchanged emails; unfortunately, I told her a great deal about all of you. Apparently enough to fool you into thinking that she was me." The woman Gibbs was trying to tell him was Ziva dropped the sniper rifle that she had apparently used to kill…someone.

"McGee disabled the virus," Gibbs said to her.

"I will go retrieve the drive," the woman said. "Thank you, Tony. Keeping her here will make it easy to find." She looked at him. "Do you have your key?"

"It's inside." She sighed.

"Fine. I will do this 'the old-fashioned way', yes?" Tony didn't reply. Using the first floor balcony to stand on, the woman pulled herself up to the second floor and went inside. She glanced at the dead body in the bed, then started looking through her clothing. In the light, Tony got a good look at her. She was dressed all in black; even her hands were covered in black gloves. Her skin looked darker, even sallow and her face looked like she hadn't eaten in several months.

"Gibbs, that's not—Gibbs, it can't be."

"It's her," Gibbs said, picking up the rifle. "She's been tracking our Ziva-double ever since she escaped."

"So she was being imprisoned by Mossad? She told us the truth?"

"Not the double. Ziva. She's been in an Israeli prison since we left her there. The double came straight from Mossad. Actually, Mossad thinks Ziva's dead too."

"Wait, huh?" Tony was utterly confused. "Then what kind of Israeli prison was she in?"

"Probably be less confusing if I let her tell you." Tony didn't see how that was possible. Could he be dreaming or something? It was the only thing that made sense.

"It is not there," Ziv—the woman Gibbs was convinced was Ziva said, when she reappeared. Apparently she had gone out the front door this time. "Put these on." She shoved a shirt and pants at Tony. He hurriedly put them on over his boxer shorts.

"Maybe it's in the car. She changed while we were in there." The woman handed him his car keys with a smile; Tony opened the door and showed her the clothes. The drive was found in the pocket of the pink coat.

The woman eyed all of the clothes and said, "You honestly thought I would wear something like that?"

"Yes."

"I mean, the clothes, maybe, but not three-inch heels in a sandal and _certainly_ not in pink."

Tony wanted to say that he liked it better than her little Matrix outfit, but didn't. She was trying to get him to act like it was all normal, like it had been before. He wasn't going to do it. Gibbs opened the driver's side door and looked in at them.

"What exactly were you planning on doing about our friend up there?" he asked the woman.

"You mean about her body?"

"Well, yeah, it doesn't seem right to just leave her there." Tony felt like an elevator trapped between floors. He had loved…whoever that was, but maybe it should have been…whoever _this_ was. The woman thought for a minute.

"They will find her," she said. "She had people watching her. They will notice when she doesn't report in and they will come looking for her."

"Couldn't we at least wrap her up or something?" Tony said.

"Least we could do." Tony and the woman who said she was Ziva went back up to Tony's bedroom. She drew the blinds while Tony went to the woman's body and brushed the glass off of her.

"I liked her," the woman said. "We competed a lot, during training. She pushed me to be better. I'm sorry she's dead."

Tony didn't say anything, just started wrapping the sheets around her. Together, they got her neatly wrapped up.

"They'll know we were here," the woman said, when they returned to Gibbs.

"And maybe we shouldn't be too close by when that happens." Gibbs climbed into the driver's seat. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving. What say we go get a burger or something?" The woman nodded. She looked like she was literally starving and Tony guessed that it was for her benefit that Gibbs had suggested it. Tony didn't feel much like eating, but he didn't want to be left here and so he climbed in with Gibbs and the woman and they headed for someplace that was open this late.

The woman trying to convince them that she was Ziva had a way of eating that was driving Tony crazy. She took tiny bites and slowly chewed and swallowed them, even though you could tell that she just wanted to gobble the whole burger up in a couple of seconds. She didn't speak to them or even look at them. And she still had her gloves on. The few other people in the place kept sneaking looks at her. Gibbs was calmly eating his burger as if nothing had happened and this was a perfectly normal occurrence. Tony nibbled at his fries, but the surrealism was making him feel nauseated. How could this woman be Ziva, when the woman lying dead in his apartment had had to convince him that she was Ziva, and before that, he had believed that Ziva was in tiny bits somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean? This was all a bad dream and he was going to wake up and discover that none of it had ever happened and Ziva was still in Israel, shooting people and whatever else she did.

"Is something wrong, Tony?" the woman asked, when she had finished with her burger and was now taking slow sips of water from a straw. In answer, Tony just stared at her incredulously. She chuckled and it was like droplets of cold rain had come down and were smacking him painfully in the face; it really was the old Ziva-chuckle. Now that he had heard it again, he realized that the dead woman didn't sound anything like her. "Foolish question, I suppose."

"You want anything else, Ziva?" Gibbs asked. "Are you still hungry?"

"I'll get sick if I eat too much," Ziva said. "I need to take it slow. It's been quite awhile since I have eaten." Tony stared at her for a few minutes longer.

"Ok," he said. "So if you are Ziva…what happened to you?" Ziva took another long, slow sip of her water.

"I have been in prison," she said. "It was not Mossad. At least…not officially Mossad. But, people I knew."

"Why was that woman here?"

"Because I would not tell the true Mossad what they wanted to know." Her lips trembled the tiniest bit. "It was really them, at first. Part of what she told you was true; they blamed me for Michael's death and believed that I was a traitor. But then, one day—or night, I don't know—I was taken from there. I don't know what exactly happened; just that Mossad believed that I was dead after that. The people I was taken by wanted me alive. They sometimes had to go to lengths to keep me that way." In spite of himself, Tony started to wonder what she meant by that.

"Why were they holding you?" he asked. Ziva averted her eyes.

"Not everyone at Mossad wants me dead," she said. "Or so they believed. They were radicals, hoping to gain control of Mossad from the inside." Gibbs put down his soda and leaned closer; apparently he hadn't heard this part.

"How?" he asked.

"Getting one of their people or someone sympathetic to their causes into positions of power."

"But how do you figure into all that?" Tony asked.

"I was—bait of sorts."

"For who?"

"Anyone who still wanted me alive. They must have been desperate; they could not have really believed that I mattered that much to anyone in power. Maybe if someone still thought they could break me and get me to tell them about NCIS, but by then they had send in Elisheva and they fully expected her to find out everything. So, they modified their plan. The only person who cared whether or not I was still alive was my father."

"Wait, _Mossad_ wants your father dead?"

"Traitors," Ziva snapped at Tony. "It's nothing particular about him, even. It was just the only opportunity they had. They are lowlife scum who care about nothing but themselves. They were going to tell him that I was still alive, let me contact him and arrange a meeting place. Then they would kill him. They were convinced that they could get one of their people into his place after he was dead."

"You would have done something like that?" Ziva barely restrained herself from hitting Tony.

"They could not have made me," she said. "They tried as hard as they could, but I would have died first. They spent all these weeks just trying to break me down."

"Ok, ok. I think I've got it." He let her calm down for a minute before he asked the next question. "How did you get away?"

"I—" Gibbs reached out and grabbed her wrist, then pulled up the edge of the glove; a rivulet of blood ran down.

"Damn it." Ziva grabbed her bag. "I'll be right back."

After she had been gone about five seconds, Tony said, "I gotta hit the head." He walked back to the restrooms, then quietly nudged open the door to the women's. In front of him, Ziva was standing by the sink; she had taken bandages and a tube of some kind of ointment out of her bag. Then she took off her gloves. There were bandages wrapped around her fingers that were soaked in blood. She unwrapped them, threw them in the trash, then started to wash her hands off. From where he was, Tony could see that her fingertips were red and swollen. Then she tried to open the package of bandages, wincing with pain, and he could see why she was bleeding; she had no fingernails. By his guess, they had been torn off during her…imprisonment. She was still struggling to open the bandages, starting to get frustrated.

"Let me." Tony stepped in. Ziva turned and put her hands behind her back.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "You were watching me?"

"That must hurt pretty bad for you to not have noticed." He took the bandages from her and opened them. "What do you do normally?"

"I put this on." She picked up the tube of ointment. "Then cover it in bandages."

"Let me do it. It'll be easier than if you try." Ziva avoided his eyes, but allowed him to take her hand. Tony put ointment on the corner of a bandage to apply it. While he was doing it, he looked at her face. She looked terrible; her eyes and her cheeks were sunken in and the skin looked tight. Her lips were dry and chapped and tiny specks of blood appeared when she smiled. Which she was, or trying to. And it looked like—wait. He had thought that that Elisheva girl was Ziva. How could he be sure here? And she had known things; she had known what happened to Michael and how he had killed him. Ziva—this one, anyway—had said that Mossad believed that she had killed Michael.

"You don't have to trust me, Tony," Ziva said. "I don't blame you; I wouldn't." He started to wind the gauze around her fingers. "Although, I would have thought that since Elisheva was willing to sleep with you, it would have tipped you off."

"You don't have to make jokes like that." He tucked the end of the gauze into a layer, put the glove back and started on the other hand.

"Sorry, Tony." Her hand shook a little. "It wasn't a joke; she might have wanted to distract you if she thought you were on to her."

"I wasn't." It was just another lie. She hadn't really loved him. She didn't even know him. It had been heaven for him, what he had always wanted and it had just been another illusion.

"Did you put the same moves on her that you used to put on me?"

"They weren't moves."

"Then what did you say to her?" He put on the bandages and then together they put on the other glove.

"Nothing important." He didn't let go of her hand. "When did this happen?"

"I don't know. I lost track of time."

"Must have been recently; otherwise they would have grown back."

"They never let them. And the more I used my hands, the less they would heal. Thank you, Tony. Wash your hands before you go." She gathered up the ointment and unused bandages and put them in her bag, then left.

"Let me know if you need help again." She had left him standing alone in a women's room. Tony wished it had never happened. He wished he was still lying in bed with the woman he loved, knowing he'd finally found what he had been looking for. He wondered if he would ever get back there again. Well, certainly not with her.

Title: Searching for a Reason

Author: lunarcaterpillar

Rating: T for violence, sexual content and descriptions of torture

Spoilers: everything through Aliyah

Pairings: Tiva

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended

Warning: Contains descriptions of torture

Chapter Seven

**Two weeks before…**

The building was old, run-down, crumbling, too decrepit even for the drug dealers and prostitutes that used most of the other buildings on the streets. Smoothly, invisibly, a fee was slipped to all the men and women in charge to ignore and forget the cars that pulled up on a daily basis. Anyone who knew what was good for them saw only an old pile of bricks and taught all their more inquisitive people to see the same.

Malachi Ben-Ibraham was one of these people in invisible cars. He didn't like being here and so pretended the place didn't exist just like everyone who saw him pretended that he didn't exist. Just a lot of things that never happened.

The prison was underground; Malachi took the elevator, the only part of the building that was reliable. It had been repaired for their use, but it moved painfully slow. To Malachi, it felt like descending into the depths of hell. Appropriate.

He went through the normal security procedures and walked to the last cell in the row. They called it a cell; it was a dirt hole, sunless and airless; it basically buried a person alive. In this case, that was exactly the effect they wanted to have. Inside, the air was cavelike and stifling. It was a minute before he could even breathe. He turned on the dim overhead light and could just barely see a figure lying on the cot, wrists tied up against the wall. He knew what they had been doing to her. He had done it himself on several occasions. Not that he had enjoyed it. But this wasn't about him. It was more about her. They wanted her alive; alive, but broken. They had to break down her spirit and make her simply a breathing shell of a woman. She needed to be that way for the plan to work. Even after weeks of torment, previously by Mossad itself, she would not willingly betray them.

The breathing from the cot quickened and deepened, as if she felt the presence of another pair of lungs in her cell, stealing her air. Then, with some effort, she lifted her head and looked at him. Water, she attempted to say. Malachi smiled as he brought her some water from the jar they had left for her. This was progress; for weeks she had refused to eat or drink and they had had to keep her alive artificially. Now she would at least drink, possibly eat. Proving that even the strongest and most beautiful spirit could be broken, given enough time.

"I'm sorry, Ziva," he said to her, holding a cup to her lips, letting her drink. "I'm sorry you had to be who you are." After she had had a few sips, he threw the cup away and pulled her off the cot. She was still tied to the wall and too weak to hold herself up; she fell and suppressed a cry when her wrist twisted and the rope cut into her skin.

Malachi knelt next to her and put his hand against her neck, cutting her breathing off but avoiding the carotids, not letting her lose consciousness. "You know what we want to know," he said. He waited almost a minute before removing his hand.

"No," she said, when she got her breath back. "No, I don't." He throttled her again.

"You do. You know, we'll stop when you finally tell us."

"I don't know," she said, when he released her. He knew she didn't know. They didn't actually need any information from her. If she still had the senses left, she might have realized that, while they did torture her on a daily basis, it was relatively light. Just another way to break her. He moved on from air restriction, knowing that Mossad agents adapted quickly and could cope easier if something was repeated too many times. There were a few other things that he knew to do. And when he was done, he spoke to her again.

"Just imagine your life; day after day like this. Nothing to look forward to but more pain and suffering. No one knows you're here. All your friends believe that you are either a traitor or dead. Don't think you will be rescued. And we will not let you die." He smiled at her. "Such a life for the famous Ziva David."

She didn't answer him, whether from weakness or defiance. It was probably the former, but he slapped her anyway, pushing dirt and gravel from the wall into the bruises and scrapes on her face. Then she looked at him again.

"This is not the occupation I would have guessed for you, Malachi," she said, with some effort.

"I won't hear any judgment from you," he replied. "You killed Michael."

"I did not." He grabbed her throat again.

"He died while he was there for you; whether by your own hand or because of you, it makes no difference to me. You are responsible for his death."

"You cannot make me believe that." Malachi stood up and let himself lose his temper for a minute, only for a minute. He beat and kicked her, so much that any longer might have killed her. When he was done, she moaned with pain and her head fell to one side. He could still hear her breathing. He picked up her motionless body and set her back on the cot. Then he left.

"Might want to have someone take a look at her," he told the guard, on his way out. Then he got in his car and drove away from the invisible building and tried to forget the afternoon that had never happened.

Ziva wandered for hours in a world of tangled dreams and nightmares, not remembering where or, sometimes, who she was. The last thing she remembered was talking about Michael; memories of him danced before her eyes. How awkward it had been when they first learned that they were going to be married. Their friendship had been ruined and neither seemed to know what to say. Eventually, Michael tried to be kind—romantic, even—and Ziva had tried to make herself respond. There was nothing she could do about it, she reasoned, so she might as well try to enjoy it. And the thought of a new life with him, being a wife and eventually a mother, started to seem pleasant. She thought of it when work became too stressful. It was a way to escape, knowing that she would finally have her own little place in the world she had been fighting all her life to protect. It was the fantasy that kept her going.

All shattered by Tony's too-well-aimed bullet.

Still, somehow deep in her mind, surely she had known it was only a fantasy. She didn't love Michael and he didn't love her. That had been made clear when he had called her the wrong name that night, in her bed. Even though he had seemed happy with her, he had wanted someone else. Ziva didn't know what she wanted. She hadn't thought much about it because she knew she was going to be marrying Michael whether she liked it or not. And it didn't matter now. Even whether or not he had truly betrayed her didn't matter, now that he was dead. Along with the grief of knowing that he was gone, she had to admit that she felt a guilty hint of relief. Maybe because now she wouldn't have to see all her nice little ideas of a home and a family shattered by Michael himself. Or maybe…she didn't want to think about it. Tony kept drifting through her mind; how different he had been after Michael was dead and they had come to Israel. For just an instant, just before he left, she had caught a glimpse of the fantasy; it had been the same, a happy home, a family, only with him instead of Michael. As soon as it appeared, though, she had ripped it to shreds in her mind. That was not what she was born for. Likely, she would die soon and never see him again.

There was no way for her to know how much later it was when it happened. She woke up and could hear the guards change shifts and knew it was either the beginning of the day or night, but there was no way to tell which. Then the door to the cell opened and a flashlight was shone on her face. Ziva gasped with the pain and squeezed her eyes shut; it was brighter than anything she had seen in weeks. Someone rushed over to her and then a voice spoke; it was a woman.

"Get up. Hurry; you only have a few minutes." Hands struggled to untie her wrists, then, getting frustrated, used a knife. The sudden rush of blood into her hands made her grit her teeth as she slowly moved them down. Then she sat up and looked at her rescuer. It was a woman, a little younger than her, with blond hair. She had never seen her before, but the woman spoke Hebrew like a native. She was also obviously pregnant.

"Look," she said, shining the flashlight on the ceiling of the cell. "Not far above that are shafts that ran into the basement here. Dig through and you can use these to get into them." She had in her hand small charges; they only had about enough power to get through a thin wall.

"Are you helping me escape?" Ziva asked. "Why?" The woman didn't say anything, just handed her a digging tool. "Isn't this just as likely to cave in the whole facility and bring the building down on top of us?" she said, digging as fast as her weak hands could.

"It might," the woman said. "Look at it this way; either circumstance is an improvement on your situation." She had a point. "But we have to hurry. The regular guard is off on a break; I asked for a few minutes alone with the 'traitor'. But he may return at any minute." To Ziva's surprise, the rest of the cell didn't start to collapse as they dug. It took some time, but eventually, they saw the metal shaft above them. The woman attached the two little charges.

"Now," she said. "When it blows, you must be ready to go immediately. Someone will hear that. I will do my best to stall them, but you must get out as soon as you can."

"Why are you doing this?" Ziva demanded. "Why would you help me if you believe I am a traitor?"

"I don't care whether you are or not," the woman said. "I'm doing this because I know that Michael would not have wanted you to suffer, even for his sake. And, if he had lived, no matter what they say about him, I believe he would have stopped this. I am too much of a coward to do it myself. So you must. I am sorry."

"No," Ziva said. "You have done a lot for me." She glanced at her belly. "Michael's?" she asked.

"Yes," the woman whispered.

"I know he cared for you," Ziva said. She didn't say anything about her own suspicions regarding Michael. And when the charger blew, once she realized that the building hadn't collapsed, she grabbed the woman around the neck. Just a few seconds of pressure on the carotids…she carefully lowered her to the floor when she went unconscious. Then she grabbed the bag the woman had been carrying and threw everything out to make it look like she had knocked her unconscious first, then gone through her bag looking for something to help her. She took the tools with her; standing on the cot, she could just pull herself into the shaft.

"Thank you," she said to the woman, then crawled away through the shaft; she could already hear voices. She quickly found her way out and hid behind a dumpster next to another building, hearing a great many people coming out of the prison, looking for her. They wouldn't find her. Now, the question that she was faced was how she was going to get to Washington DC.

Title: Searching for a Reason

Author: lunarcaterpillar

Rating: T for violence, sexual content and descriptions of torture

Spoilers: everything through Aliyah

Pairings: Tiva

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended

Warning: More descriptions of torture, worse than the previous chapter

Warning: Some parts of this chapter may be triggering for some readers

Chapter Eight

Tony had never been one who tended towards despair. But this time it seemed to be where he had landed. He had had it. Gibbs and Ziva were talking quietly about the situation; Tony was just slouching in his chair with his arms crossed, not really listening. _Why should he give a damn_, he wondered. Mossad had tried to infiltrate NCIS and they had stopped them. NCIS would keep quiet, pretend they didn't know, but dismiss the liaison and let things be tense for awhile, if they did anything at all. It was the best way to handle things without raising fear and animosity between the two countries. And so Ziva would leave and go wherever she wanted to go. He doubted she would stay there; in fact he hoped she wouldn't. He was tired and miserable and didn't think he would mind much if he never saw her again. Assuming he could forget that night, of course. It hadn't been her. But it _had._ And now never to touch her body or kiss her lips again…he didn't care if they had actually been hers. But she didn't really love him; it had all been a scam to keep him distracted and…this was why he hoped she would leave and never come back.

"That work for you, Tony?" Gibbs asked. Tony startled out of his trance.

"Um…sure. Whatever."

"You didn't hear a word we said, did you?" Ziva asked, twirling her straw in her empty cup.

"No, not really."

"You and Ziva are going to go to my place so she can get some rest," Gibbs said. "I am going back to headquarters with the rest of the team so we can figure this thing out. We'll keep looking at what was on that drive and try to figure out what Mossad got from that virus."

"Hey, boss, can't I go with you and help out the team? Surely I could be of more use there," Tony said. He got the Gibbs stare in answer.

"You stay with Ziva," he said. "We'll call you when we know something."

"Gibbs, it's not your job to do anything to help me," Ziva said. "When you have made sure that there have been no breaches of security, you can turn everything over to me and I will deal with it in Israel." It was her turn to get the stare.

"Just go get some rest, Ziva. You know where the key is." Ziva gave him a meaningful look.

"Thank you, Gibbs. For all of this." Tony had stopped paying attention again. "I know I don't deserve it."

"I might have thought so before. Now I think differently."

"Why?"

"If they had to send in your friend to get information on us, after they tortured you…" He looked back at her. "You didn't betray us."

"I couldn't. Not after...everything."

"I'm glad." He stood up and started clearing away everything on the table. "Don't screw this up." He slapped Tony on the head. "DiNozzo! You too sleepy to drive?"

"No, boss."

"You two get going. I'll call you in a few hours."

"Here you go," Tony said, throwing her a pillow where she was sitting on the couch. "You cold? Need something to cover up with?"

"I'll be fine," Ziva said, slowly and awkwardly lying down. "It feels strange to be sleeping on Gibbs' couch."

"Surely it's better than wherever you've been for the past few months," Tony said. "Got a question for you before you doze off; I thought NCIS was cooperating with Mossad. How come they still try to be sneaky and steal all our information?"

"Because everyone spies on everyone else; because they wanted to infiltrate Gibbs and his team because they didn't trust him; because—I don't know. It's Mossad. And it's always been this way." Ziva didn't want to talk about the fact that she had been there to do the job that Ziva herself was supposed to have been doing. "You should get some rest yourself, Tony."

"Right. Sure. If you need anything else, I'll be around here somewhere." He walked off.

Ziva turned the lamp off, wondering what was wrong with Tony. He was right about one thing; it was the most comfortable bed she had been in since she left NCIS. She settled down and closed her eyes, looking forward to a real, refreshing sleep that would clear her mind a little.

At first it was faint, like the lingering feeling of waves after a day in the ocean; she vaguely remembered the feel of her old cot in her cell. It didn't really bother her. At this point it would take an atomic explosion to keep her sleep-starved brain awake. Then she started to hear the drip-drip-drip from the kitchen sink. With no warning…she was back underwater. Her hair was being roughly held by a man with coarse fingernails digging into her scalp. She was kneeling with her hands tied behind her back, water covered her face, seeping in to her mouth; her lungs was being crushed with the pressure of being bent over and having to hold her breath enough for two…three…minutes, or longer.

Then she was in Gibbs' living room again, sitting up on the couch, gasping for breath almost suspiciously, afraid that it would turn back into water. What was that? An unusually vivid dream? She had heard from other people at Mossad that after torture, your dreams could become so real that they could completely ensnare you and make you go mad. She had never experienced it, but the last few months could have pushed her over the edge. Well, she couldn't just lay awake all night; she had to try to sleep, even if she woke up from nightmares again. She lay back down on the sofa.

Her cell appeared again. This was no dream; her eyes were open. She was back, trapped in a dirt cave, underground. The air was like breathing smoke, full of the heavy earthy smell, mixing with the scent of sweat and dried blood. Her hands were tied over her head, bristling strands of rope opening old scabs on her wrists and she could feel blood trickling down. Then the screaming and the shouting…the sounds from the other cells were enough in themselves to overwhelm and terrify, but in addition the shouting, in rough, vulgar words, demanding things she didn't know and couldn't answer. Again and again she felt them hit her, bringing all the different kinds of pain, dull stabbing when they hit old bruises, sharp and stinging when they pressed her face against the wall, the dirt and rocks tearing her skin off, the pulsing, stabbing, overwhelming pain of blows to the head. All that she had ever been taught no longer applied; she couldn't keep herself quiet and she cried out and screamed and begged for someone to stop them, save her from this. Eventually, though, she had to stop crying. The salt from the tears ran into her wounds and made the pain worse.

Back to the living room. Ziva stood up, arms wrapped around herself, shaking, wondering what the hell was going on. It had been just as real as the room where she was. She glanced at her wrists, half-expecting to see blood. That was no dream. Flashback? Had it been so indelibly imprinted on her mind that she relived the whole thing, every detail? Would this happen every time she tried to sleep, every time something reminded her of…

Tony had just come in to check on Ziva; he thought he had heard her call him. She was just standing there, staring at the wall with a strange expression, like she saw something else. He walked over and just gently touched her shoulder. Ziva didn't actually look at him, but her face was a mask of fear and fury. She slapped his hand away, pushed him aside and ran out of the room. He was following her when he heard the door slam.

When she got back to reality, or what she assumed was reality, Ziva no longer knew where she was. She was running along the road; she looked back and saw Gibbs' house a good distance behind her. She remembered nothing about what had just happened. The flashback…it had been horrible. Reminding her that not even her body belonged to her. She couldn't speak; she couldn't even breathe with the weight pressing on her chest. The pain may have been bearable, less than when they were hitting her, but somehow this was worse. Another way of choking the life out of her, one that wasn't going to let her escape through death. The smell again; they laughed in her face. Tobacco, and garlic. And one that was particular to Malachi; a sickly sweet moldy smell, different from the mold in the cell. Struggling against the ropes, letting it hurt was the only way to distract herself. They laughed that she still fought, after how long she had been there. Only Malachi ever tried to beat her into submission. The flashback was over now. But she knew she couldn't sleep anymore or it would happen again. She would go, find something useful to do. Then, when this mission was completed…she would find some way to get rid of the flashbacks. She couldn't live like that. When this was over, maybe she wouldn't have any reason to.

Abby handed Gibbs the phone in the lab.

"What do you want, DiNozzo?" he asked.

"Boss, Ziva's gone," Tony said, not even bothering to ask how he knew it was him. "I don't know what happened. She was asleep, I thought I heard her say something so I went to check on her and she just blew out of here like someone was after her." Thinking about it, he grabbed his weapon and started looking around and listening.

"Don't bother, Tony; there wasn't anyone," Gibbs said. "Now what did you do again?"

"Nothing, Boss, I swear! I just—well, I did just touch her shoulder—"

"DiNozzo, should I really have to tell you not to scare her?"

"Scare her?"

"She's a woman who's been held in prison by a bunch of ruthless bastards for the past two months; can you think of any reason why she'd be a little jumpy?"

"Sorry, boss, I guess maybe I did scare her. But now we have to find her."

"No need," Gibbs said. "I've got her on the phone. Mossad agents are at your apartment to move the body and she heard their conversation; her father's going to be in the country tomorrow."

"So? This is probably the safest place he could be, away from those people who were holding Ziva."

"If there was a way to be headslapping over the phone, I'd be doing it. You really weren't paying attention when we were talking at the restaurant, were you? She wasn't being held in Israel; it was here, in Virginia. They're here."

"But they don't have Ziva; how are they going to do it?"

"They're a bunch of ex-Mossad agents; they'll improvise. Ziva's trying to find some way of warning him without alerting them. Get to headquarters, now." Tony hung up the phone and headed out to the car. Gibbs picked his cell back up.

"That was DiNozzo," he said. "He's coming in here, and you should, too." There was no sound from the other end of the line. "Ziva, are you there? Ziva?"

Title: Searching for a Reason

Author: lunarcaterpillar

Rating: T for violence, sexual content and descriptions of torture

Spoilers: everything through Aliyah

Pairings: Tiva

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended

Chapter Nine

Gibbs called Tony back and told him to meet him at the apartment. Tony didn't ask why, for once. He just wanted it to be over with.

He found Gibbs looking through the bushes around the complex.

"What are we here for now?' he asked. Gibbs gave him the look.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't care about this case, DiNozzo,"

"It's not a case, boss," Tony said. "Maybe Ziva's right; maybe we should take care of our own and let her handle it."

"Tony," Gibbs said. "I know what you were doing with that woman when you thought she was Ziva. Don't try to pretend you don't think of her as one of our own, no matter how long she's been gone."

"It doesn't matter. She's just using us and when we've done all she wants, she'll leave."

"You really believe that? Or are you just upset because she wasn't who you thought she was?"

"I just—if she's going to leave, I'd rather that she did it as soon as possible," Tony said. "Maybe she already has. Maybe she lied to us and Mossad picked her up here and took her back so she can give them the information on us."

"Well, we can't just make that assumption," Gibbs said. "Maybe they did pick her up and maybe they took her back and then _shot her!_" He smacked Tony's head. Tony didn't flinch. "She was your partner, for God's sake! Believe me, I understand why it's hard for you to trust her. But even if I thought she was lying, I wouldn't just leave her for dead. And I don't think she's lying. We're going to try and find out what happened to her."

"Got it, boss," Tony said. "Did she not say anything on the phone?"

"I lost contact with her after you called me. All she told me was that Mossad was coming and that they were saying that her father was going to be in the country. Any number of things could have happened."

"The ex-Mossads could have gotten her."

"I said look, not theorize, DiNozzo."

"Why were they here, anyway, instead of in Israel?"

"From what I know of Mossad," Gibbs said. "It would be kind of hard to hide from them in their own country. I don't blame them for coming here."

"But isn't that going to look bad for us if their Deputy Director is assassinated in our own country?"

"Oh, y'think, DiNozzo?" Gibbs said. "If you want a reason to work this that has nothing to do with Ziva, there it is." Tony got out his phone and dialed Ziva's number. "I tried that already; it went to voice mail."

"I hear something," Tony said. He walked toward a wooded area behind the complex where he could hear ringing. He shone his flashlight on the ground until he saw Ziva's phone. Fearing a little what he might see, he moved the light around and saw a dark shape hidden by leaves and other wood refuse. There were a few dark curls visible. So both of them were dead. It was one of the few times in Tony's life that he felt like putting a bullet in his own head.

"What do you got?" Gibbs asked, following him over. When Tony didn't reply, he shone his own flashlight and saw the body. Then he walked over, closer to it.

"Don't, Boss," Tony said. "I've had it for tonight."

"Then don't look. We need to know what happened to her." Gibbs turned the body over and looked at the face. "Get over here, DiNozzo," he said. Not having the strength of will to disobey Gibbs at this point, Tony did as told and looked at the face Gibbs was shining the light on. Then he looked up at him.

"So, where's Ziva?" he asked. The body was that of Elisheva Ben-Joseph.

Wrapped in Tony's sheets, stuffed in the back of an unmarked black van, Ziva was gaining an appreciation for what her teammates had gone through when she had insisted on driving. She had to stifle an exclamation of pain every time they turned a corner. After all, corpses didn't normally complain about their heads hitting the sides of the van.

"Stupid woman," the male agent, in the passenger seat said. "The Americans must have caught on and killed her. We'll never get in after this."

Thankfully, when they had picked her up, they hadn't done a thorough examination of her. She hadn't had much time after she had gotten Elisheva's body out of the apartment and the best she could do to fake a bullet to the chest was to put a hole in her jacket and put a little blood around it. All they had done was glance at her face.

"Wow," the female agent had said. "They really did make her look like David." Then they had picked her up, put her in the van and were taking her back, to Mossad's 'field office', she guessed. It was owned in name by a shell company—Weissmann's Catering—so it didn't seem unusual for there to be a great deal of traffic, people coming and going, trucks loading and unloading. And they had space for refrigeration; that was where she would be going. She heard the male agent on the phone asking about getting 'Elisheva' back to Israel.

"Do you know what happened to David?" the woman asked, when he hung up.

"I heard she was dead," the man said. "Someone got a little too enthusiastic trying to get information out of her."

"The Deputy Director couldn't have been happy about that."

"No surprise that Ben-Ibraham and most of his lot 'disappeared.'"

"Shame," the woman said. "I never met her, but I heard a lot about her. One of the best in Mossad." The man snorted.

"Spent too much time around the Americans. She forgot what she was there for. Better that she's dead in a hole somewhere, if she's no use to us."

When they arrived, the two agents made sure she was well-wrapped and put her on a stretcher designed to look like an ordinary cart, with a lid that hid her. It was made especially for that purpose.

"I can handle it from here," the male agent said. "I'll take her to the 'morgue'."

He took her to their makeshift morgue, just a refrigerated closet with space to store bodies. When he got her in there, he took off the lid and unwrapped her.

"I'm sorry, Elisheva," he said. He started feeling her clothing. "I hope you don't mind." She imagined that he was just looking for the drive. Still, as 'thorough' as he was being, he was bound to notice that she was warm and her blood was still flowing.

When he got up to her jacket, she opened her eyes and said, "Actually, I do." His face looked so shocked that she almost regretted having to punch him.

She got off the cart and looked down at him on the floor, still looking at her in horror, and clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Feeling up a dead woman," she said. "You should be ashamed of yourself." Then she knocked him unconscious. With some effort, she wrapped him in the sheets lying on floor, then walked out, trying to think quickly what to do now.

"Who dumped the body?" Tony asked, as he followed Gibbs who was charging back towards his apartment.

"That's what I want to find out," Gibbs said.

"You think it could have been Ziva? She could have pretended to be that woman to get back in to Mossad."

"That sounds like Ziva," Gibbs said. They got up to Tony's apartment and looked in his bedroom; the sheets were gone.

"So, they've got her; they just don't know it," Tony said. "What do we do now, boss?"

"We find her, Tony!" Gibbs yelled, and stormed out.

"You think they took her to the Embassy?" Tony asked, practically running behind Gibbs.

"They wouldn't take a body to the Embassy," Gibbs replied. "They have somewhere else, probably in DC."

"But we don't know where it is."

"We will."

Efraim Sobol, being held against the wall by his neck, immobilized, tried to rationalize why he had not heard the attack coming. He had been sleeping, he had not expected to be attacked ever in this country. And the man holding him was an ex-Marine, a force held in high esteem even by the Israeli army.

"You'll want to start talking now, Sobol," the man he knew from his work as the liaison to be Agent DiNozzo, holding the knife he usually kept under his mattress. One of them must have snuck in and taken it. He laughed at them.

"I am trained by Mossad," he said. "You honestly think you can make me talk?"

"Not with torture," Agent Gibbs said. "I'm not even going to try. But, it seems to me that you like your life in this country. You're comfortable. It's nice, not having to watch for suicide bombers, enemy agents, IEDs. I know; it's completely understandable. But you should know, if you don't tell us what you want to know, you're going to lose it."

"A rogue faction of Mossad plans to assassinate one of your higher-ups," Tony said. "If they get away with it, Mossad is going to think it was us. And, assuming you're still alive and haven't been detained for questioning, you'll be on the next flight out of here. Who knows; there might even be war."

"How do you know this?" Sobol asked. "Is this for sure?"

"You think we would come to your apartment at 0400 in the morning if we didn't know it?" Gibbs yelled. "Now we need to know where Mossad's headquarters in DC are. Tell us and we let you go. Don't tell us and we'll give your name to Homeland Security as soon as it happens." Sobol sighed.

"You really believe there will be an assassination?" he asked. Gibbs nodded. "Fine. I will tell you." Gibbs didn't move. "You will have to release me." Slowly, Gibbs let go of his neck, never taking his eyes off of him. Sobol went to his desk and pulled out a business card. It was for Weissman's Catering. "They are there. Do not take this card; write it down. Do not use my name."

"Agreed." Tony quickly wrote down the address and they left the apartment.

After hiding in the janitor's closet for a minute to give herself time to think, Ziva decided that the best plan of action was to try to warn her father directly. He was set to arrive at 0700, but she wouldn't be surprised if he came early. She would go to his office and wait for him there. When he came in, he would have to talk to her. What was he going to do? Tell the guards they were free to shoot her?

"Maybe to spare him the embarrassment of having to explain why I'm not dead," she said to herself. Not really believing it. Not completely, anyway.

To get into the back of the building, she was going to need clearance. Having the foresight, she had stolen the clearance cards from the agent currently in the morgue. She could disable the fingerprint scanners. Then it was just a matter of taking care of the guards. She looked in the corner, under a shelf of cleaning supplies and pulled out a well-hidden knife. This was Mossad; of course there were weapons hidden in the janitor's closet.

It wasn't hard to get through security, but when she got to the second floor, where the offices were, there were no guards. She looked around suspiciously. Maybe they were so sure of the other security measures that they didn't think there was a need for them? Or maybe her father had arrived early. He sometimes dismissed the guards when he was there; his own pride led him to believe that, if anyone made it through the rest of the building, he could kill them easily, even as a man in his sixties. Still holding the knife at the ready, Ziva waited for another minute, then relaxed a little. She didn't mind doing this without a fight; she was still fairly weak. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could rest. She knocked on the door of her father's office but didn't wait for an answer to open the door and go inside.

"Hello, Ziva. I thought we would be seeing each other again very soon."

Malachi Ben-Ibraham was sitting at the desk, in her father's chair, smoking one of his cigars. The room was covered in blood.

Title: Searching for a Reason

Author: lunarcaterpillar

Rating: T for violence, sexual content and descriptions of torture

Spoilers: everything through Aliyah

Pairings: Tiva

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended

Chapter Ten

"What are you doing here?" Ziva asked. "What have you done?"

"No need to worry about that now," Malachi said. He stood up, stubbed out his cigar and walked around the desk to face her. From the shadowy corners, two other armed men grabbed her arms and took away her knife. "That little trick you played will cost you dearly."

"Did you kill my father?" She didn't see a body anywhere. "Whose blood is this?"

"Your father will be dead presently. Now that you've come back to us, our plan will work even better."

"Why bother with me?" Ziva said. "He thinks I'm dead; I'm of no concern to him."

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Ziva. You will be more than enough to put him in the vulnerable position we need him in. Of course we didn't _need_ you. But what better way to eliminate someone like him than to kill just as he's watching his last living child die?"

"So it doesn't worry you that everyone will think the Americans were behind this?" Malachi's eyes suddenly lit up, with excitement or anger; she couldn't tell which.

"And why not?" he asked. "We are strong, stronger than anyone suspects. We could go to war with America."

"You _want_ a war?"

"Think, Ziva; if we could beat a power like the United States, what effect do you think that would have? Our enemies would fear us, our allies would respect us. In the end, less of our people would be killed because they would know that we could crush them."

"You are so confident of our victory? The US knows everything we have and how to beat it. This is madness that will only end in the loss of an ally and the slaughter of our army."

"Not with your father out of the way," Malachi said. "With him in charge, we would never win. He is too soft." Ziva laughed. Her father? Soft? "You think I have misjudged him. But he has too many friends among the Americans, in your NCIS and in others. Other people will come to power after him who are more willing to fight and to win."

"You mean you? Do you really think they will let you take his spot?"

"You underestimate how many enemies your father has made while in office," Malachi said. "The only reason the people higher than him keep him around is because he has a knack for international relations, something this war will render unnecessary. When I convince them that this is what is best for Israel, they will be begging me to take his position." Ziva realized it now; the man was truly insane.

"So this has been your plan from the start? It's senseless; anyone at Mossad would rather die than let a madman like you have any power," she said. "What do you think is going to happen when they find out that you are the one who killed him? And you know they will find out."

"I don't listen to threats from the dead."

"Whether or not I'm dead, you will fail." Malachi looked her in the face; she stared defiantly back. He growled, then kissed her roughly. All she could smell or taste was that horrible moldy smell and her mind reeled as flashbacks hit her like blows to the head. She staggered back and would have fallen if the guards hadn't caught her arms. Malachi laughed.

"You can think what you want; you will not have the ability to do so much longer," he said. "Take her downstairs." The guards took her through the door hidden in the wall designed for escape if the rest of the building was compromised. Behind it were stairs that led to the basement; an area that was set aside from the rest of the floor and unreachable through the rest of the building. It let underground and came out a great distance away. Because of how sealed off it was and since the tunnel was easy to guard, Mossad had sometimes used it to temporarily house prisoners and there were small cells in the hallway leading to the tunnel. They threw her into one of these cells, then shut and locked the door.

At a small private airport, Deputy Director David's plane was scheduled to land at 0600. A car was already waiting for him; the driver would take him to the Embassy or Mossad headquarters, whichever he wanted.

The driver, a young man in his twenties, was watching the dim hints of sunrise. It was too early now, but he was eager to be able to tell his girlfriend about his assignment. If the Deputy Director liked him, he might get a promotion and he might finally be able to take her on the Hawaiian vacation he had been promising her.

He was thinking of his future career and didn't see the men, dressed in black, coming toward the car. They opened the door, shot him in the head with a silenced weapon before he could scream, and then dragged him out. They removed his clothes and dumped him in a drainage ditch.

In the car sat a new driver, awaiting David's plane.

Ziva was trying to think of what to do now. So far she had come up with nothing. At least she wouldn't live to see the chaos this plan was going to bring if it worked. But that was no consolation to the rest of the people in Israel and the US that were going to have to live through it. This had to be stopped. But she couldn't think how.

It was then that the door opened and in walked Tony, looking tired and very dirty. He had a somewhat bitter smile on his face.

"I'm Luke Skywalker and I'm here to rescue you, Princess Leia," he said. Ziva was too happy to see him to be annoyed.

"I thought you hated Star Wars," she said, following him out.

"Normally I try to stay away from the nerd stuff, but you know I can never resist a movie reference." He smiled the old Tony smile. "By the way, Ziva, since we might not survive this, as usual—this might not be the right time, but I just need to tell you that—"

"Where's Gibbs?" Ziva asked, as if he hadn't even been speaking. "And why are you so dirty?"

"Have you ever been in those tunnels down there? They can't have been cleaned in years, and there's some really tight spots. Gibbs took out the guards and now he's over there trying to find where the stairs are that lead up to the building."

"I'll show you." They rushed down the corridor and joined Gibbs; Ziva showed them where the door was. "This leads right up to the offices on the second floor."

"Are they here already?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes," Ziva replied. "I went into my father's office and one of them was waiting for me. The office was full of blood; they must have killed the security guards. When my father gets here, he'll be walking into a trap."

"No one from Mossad knows they're here?" Gibbs glanced at the coded lock on the door, then aimed his gun at it.

"Don't; that will just—" He shot the door open. A loud alarm rang and then continued to beep. "—activate the alarm," Ziva said.

"Now they'll know," Tony said.

"They'll know about us. A computer monitors where the alarm was activated and sends guards there. They'll be here in seconds," Ziva said.

"Then let's get up there so they can find the right bad guys," Gibbs said, and they followed him up the stairs. At the top, he said, "Draw your weapons."

"Don't have one," Ziva said. Tony handed her his back-up and on Gibbs' signal they opened the door.

Inside there were six armed men with weapons pointed at them. All three aimed their own weapons at them; Ziva glanced around and didn't see Malachi. Before anyone could shoot, the door burst open and four men and two women burst in with their weapons ready. However, they quickly became confused when they saw all of them. One of the men looked shocked.

"Ziva?" he said. One of the ex-Mossads took advantage of his distraction, turned and shot him in the chest; he fell. Then chaos ensued. Both Ziva and another of the men in the group of Mossad agents had run at the man who had shot him; together they got him pinned down and took his weapon away. By that time, the Mossad agent, who obviously thought Ziva was an intruder, was aiming his weapon at her; she knocked it out of his hand; he tackled her and they fought hand-to-hand. Tony went to help her, but was stopped by an ex-Mossad who was alternately trying to bring him down and shooting at one of the Mossads. Gibbs wasted no time; he shot one ex-Mossad, one of the women in the Mossad group, then stopped another from knifing Tony in the back.

"You don't understand!" Tony yelled at the Mossad agent trying to grab him around the neck. "We're here trying to stop an assassination! Someone wants to kill your Deputy Director David." The agent only said something in Hebrew and continued to try to kill him. "No, these are the bad guys, not us; don't you recognize them?" Across the room, Ziva kicked one of the ex-Mossads in the stomach and then stepped on his neck.

"They are sending reinforcements," she said. Gibbs nodded and glanced toward the door. Now that Mossad was aware that they had intruders, it wasn't necessary for them to stay. "What about Malachi?"

"We'll find him!" Gibbs yelled back. "Mossad will keep your father safe. Let's go." The room was full of dead or injured bodies; the only two left were one from each faction, the ex-Mossad getting the upper hand. The three of them ran for the door.

They went down the stairs and ran back into the corridor, then were stopped cold. Malachi was there, with Ziva's father, hands behind his back. One of Malachi's men had him by the shoulder and Malachi had a gun to his head.

"What did I tell you, Eli?" he said. "Believe me now?" To the man he said, "Kill them. Make sure she dies slowly." When the man reached for his weapon, David elbowed him in the stomach. Malachi hit him on the head with his gun. Ziva shot at him; he ducked and pulled David to the ground with him. Gibbs and Tony had shot the man as soon as David was out of their line of fire. Ziva ran and kicked Malachi in the head; his head drooped. She took the dead man's knife and cut the cords David's hands were bound with. He sat up to look at her.

"Ziva?" he said. Then he grimaced, turned very red, made a few choking gasps, clutched at his chest, then started to turn blue. Before Ziva could do anything, another shot rang out.

Title: Searching for a Reason

Author: lunarcaterpillar

Rating: T for violence, sexual content and descriptions of torture

Spoilers: everything through Aliyah

Pairings: Tiva. Sort of. Mostly. I'll explain later

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended

Chapter Eleven

"He's having a heart attack," Ziva said, as Gibbs rushed to her side. She hadn't even heard the shot. Her father was still turning blue; Gibbs started feeling for breathing and pulses, glancing to the side occasionally. Ziva turned around to see what he was looking at. Tony was standing over Malachi, weapon still aimed at him, watching him make agonal gasps for breath as blood spurted from his chest cavity. He was dead within seconds.

Gibbs was about to call the paramedics; Ziva grabbed his phone, dialed another number and said a few words in Hebrew. A few seconds later, several Mossad agents came running through the door from the main building. They ignored Gibbs and Ziva, but ran to David and started giving him additional breaths from an Ambu-bag after checking his pulses. Then there was a loud noise and more agents with a gurney appeared; the noise had probably been getting the gurney down the stairs. They got David onto the gurney and headed back down the tunnel without a word to the rest of them. Gibbs and Tony stared after them, now trying to think what to do now.

"What are you doing here?" A thickly accented voice behind them that they strongly suspected was aiming a weapon at them spoke. They turned around with their hands up.

"We're NCIS," Gibbs said. "I have a badge in my pocket. And this is one of your agents; Officer—" He glanced to the side; Ziva was nowhere to be seen.

"Probably went with her dad," Tony muttered.

"Show me your badge." Slowly, Gibbs reached for his badge and threw it at the man. He bent down, picked it up and examined it closely.

"You will come with me." They were taken upstairs, where their identities were verified and they told their story. Given Malachi's body downstairs and the body that they had found of the original driver, the agent believed it. All but the part about Ziva.

"Officer David is dead," he said. "Everyone knows this. I imagine you are just using her name to try to gain favor with us; it will not work. She is a traitor."

"She is not!" Tony said. "She just saved the life of her father and kept there from being a war between the US and Israel. She is not a traitor. Call whatever hospital you took the Deputy Director to; she'll be there." The agent just laughed.

"Believe what you want," he said. "Mossad is appreciative to you for preventing the attack. We will coordinate with your organization. But do not come back to this place again."

"Don't worry," Gibbs said. They all knew that they wouldn't find them again. He didn't mention the woman who had pretended to be Ziva or the information she had tried to steal; they would deal with that later. "And Deputy Director David?"

"Critical but stable," the agent said. "A heart attack no doubt brought on by the shock of the situation. We appreciate your concern. You may go now."

"I'm going to find out which hospital, see if I can find Ziva," Tony said, as they left the building.

"She won't be there," Gibbs said.

"Then what do we do now?" Gibbs looked at him.

"Call Abby and McGee, tell them they can go home and get some sleep; do the same ourselves."

"About Ziva, Boss."

"What about her?"

"She ran away! She disappeared again! Boss, I am_ not_ going to let her go again!"

"A few hours ago you were perfectly happy to see her go."

"Well, yeah, but—not now." Gibbs could see how torn he was by looking at his face.

"She's still got her cell phone." Tony's eyes lit up.

"Why didn't I think of that?" He dialed Ziva's number. After three tries at calling her, she answered.

"What do you want?"

"Where are you?" Tony asked.

"Why do you care? Mossad let you go, yes?"

"Yeah, they did, no thanks to you. They thought we were just name-dropping when we said you were there. How's your dad?"

"Goodbye, Tony."

"Hold on, wait," Tony said. "If you're going to disappear forever again, I need to tell you something."

Gibbs called Abby.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Abby said, in a half-awake, panicked state. "I'm so sorry, Gibbs! I didn't mean to fall asleep. Neither did McGee."

From beside Abby, he heard McGee say, "I'm sorry, Boss!"

"It's ok, Abbs," Gibbs said. "We got the guy."

"The computer kept working," Abby said. "We got most of the stuff off the drive."

"Now that it's over, it'll probably need to be destroyed," Gibbs said. "You find out what the virus got?"

"Not a lot. Probably nothing they didn't already know."

"Good work, both of you. Now go home and get some sleep."

"Is Ziva still here?"

"It's a long story, Abbs. I'll tell you later."

"So she's gone? Again?"

"Get some rest, Abby. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Ok. Bye, Gibbs."

Ziva was silent on the phone and had been that way for about thirty seconds. Tony didn't say anything; he was waiting for her to reply.

"Ok, Tony, so…are you waiting for me to say something?"

"Normally when someone tells you they're in love with you, you do say something back. And this is the second time I've said this to 'you', so, please, say something."

"What were you expecting?"

"Best case scenario? 'I feel the same way, why didn't we say this before, let's find someplace where we can be alone'."

"So that was why you were in bed with a woman you believed was me. You told her the same thing?"

"Yeah. That response was the best case scenario."

"So if you already got what you wanted, why tell me this?"

"Because I don't just want sex; I want you," Tony said. "And this isn't going the way I was hoping."

"Well, I'm sorry, Tony."

"So you don't feel anything for me?"

"You were a good friend. Nothing more."

"_Were_?"

"I won't be back."

"Why not? Mossad thinks you're dead; where are you going to go?"

"It doesn't matter. It will be easier on you if you just forget me."

"Are you still mad at me about killing Michael?"

"Yes; yes, I am. But that isn't why I'm…declining your offer. It just wouldn't work, Tony."

"How do you know that?" Tony was starting to sound a little desperate even to himself. "I don't think you realize how hard it was for me to say this—twice, no less. Please, come back, Ziva."

"I can't." Tony couldn't be sure, but he thought she was trying to hold back tears. "I'm sorry, Tony. I don't mean to hurt you, but it cannot happen between us."

"You're serious?"

"Forget me, Tony." He was sure her voice was cracking. "I'll miss you."

"Ziva, wait; where are you? I'll come to you, we can talk—" He heard the phone click. When he called back, he got the little tone that told him the phone was off. He looked up to see Gibbs looking at him with something that, had it not been Gibbs, he would have called sympathy.

"Let's go, DiNozzo."

"Boss, I really don't feel like—"

"We're going back to work." He started in the direction of the car parked several blocks away.

"To do what, Boss?"

"There's still the matter of our systems being broken into. The important thing is that I can't afford to have you drinking yourself into a coma today. Let's go." Tony followed him, feeling despair close around him again.

A/N: Don't panic; the story isn't over yet.

Title: Searching for a Reason

Author: lunarcaterpillar

Rating: T for violence, sexual content and descriptions of torture

Spoilers: everything through Aliyah

Pairings: Tiva

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended

A/N: Did I mention this story gets dark?

Chapter Twelve

Ten hours later

At Dulles there was someone sitting on a bench outside Gate 27; it was impossible to tell whether they were male or female as their face was shaded with sunglasses and they had a hoodie covering their head. Still, Gibbs managed to find Ziva under all that. He sat down beside her; she didn't move.

Finally he said, "You might be needing this." He handed her the backup weapon that she had dropped when she left Mossad headquarters.

"They won't allow me to carry a weapon on a plane," Ziva said.

"Actually, I was referring to the fact that it's cheaper to ship a body to Israel than to fly there. You could just do it here, save some money." Ziva took off her sunglasses and stared at him in surprise.

"Mossad still thinks you're dead; no one saw you last night because you ran away before they could and the hospital is telling your father that seeing you was a stress-induced hallucination, something I think you suggested to them. That and you told Tony to forget you. You apparently have no interest in your life anymore."

"If everyone thinks I'm dead, I might as well be," Ziva said. "And don't start on me, Gibbs."

"What do you mean 'start on you'? I gave you a weapon."

"You're going to try to convince me that I still have a reason to live even though my country no longer needs or wants me and I'm of no use to anyone. It's not going to work." Gibbs paused before replying.

"You ran away from my house last night because you had a flashback, right?"

"I did."

"And you keep having them?" Ziva had turned her face into a mask. "I understand, Ziva. That's called post-traumatic stress disorder and it's very common; there's hundreds of soldiers who went to Iraq that have it. It's treatable. Don't do this because you think there's no other way out."

"I know what it is. I've known people in Mossad who had it." She paused and her face looked pale. "Nothing helped them. So they locked them away in psychiatric hospitals for the rest of their lives. Which didn't last long; most of them killed themselves soon afterwards and very little was done to stop them. Maybe because they were a liability; maybe because everyone knew they were lost causes. And I refuse to die in captivity."

"As far as I know, that's not how it works here. I've known people who had it too. One of them still lives in DC with a wife and family. It's not a death sentence." He kept looking at her, like he was staring straight through her. "At least try, Ziva. You can do that." Ziva was silent for a moment.

"I don't see how anything could possibly help," she said. "They just…come out of nowhere. Everything as real as us sitting here. Any time I close my eyes—I can't even sleep, Gibbs! I would go crazy from that before anything could help me get rid of them. It's much easier this way."

"Easier for who?" Gibbs asked. "Easier for us? Or for Tony? Am I supposed to tell him that you went back to Israel to kill yourself because you didn't even want to try getting treated?"

"I know what you're doing, Gibbs and it's not going to work. You can't make me feel guilty for rejecting Tony. He deserves someone who is at least mentally sound. Even if I did get treatment I couldn't give him that." Gibbs sighed and turned away from her. For a few minutes they stared out the window onto the runway outside, neither really seeing it.

"I can't explain to you why these things happened to you," he finally said. "I don't think anyone will be able to tell you that."

"I never asked," Ziva cut in. "In war you do what you have to do."

"I know. But that doesn't mean it's not going to stay with you. You were trained to be strong; everyone in our line of work was. But we're human. I think it was you who told me that there's only so much torture a human body can take, before it breaks." He paused, letting that sink in. "With some help, broken things can be mended, Ziva. You put a cast on a broken bone and it'll heal. And I think you'll heal too, with time. As for being unwanted, don't you think that's a little bit of an overstatement?"

"What am I supposed to do with my life? Don't try to tell me I could go back to what I had before?"

"No. Even if you weren't having flashbacks I wouldn't put you back in the field right now. You've been through hell."

"Then what am I good for? Everything I—" Her voice started to break. "Everything I fought for, my homeland, no longer wants me, and I never betrayed them! Never! I am dead to everything I ever loved or cared for. What reason do I have to keep living?" She broke down. Gibbs calmly waited for her to stop crying; he knew that if he tried to comfort her he could end up making it worse. When the sobs started to quiet, he gently reached out and touched her hand.

"It hurts," he said simply. "I know." There was silence for a few more seconds. "I know you have a right to make your own decisions. If it's really what you want I'm not going to stop you—"

"Please, Gibbs," Ziva said with a sniffle. "This gun isn't even loaded."

"But," Gibbs continued. "I don't think it is. I can't imagine how badly it hurts to be betrayed by your country and the people you cared about. But I think even you don't believe that you are dead to everyone you love."

"You mean Tony," she said. "He told me he loves me—he doesn't even know who I am anymore."

"You could give him a chance." She looked like she might be wavering a little. "I'll make you a deal. You stay here for a few weeks. I won't tell anyone you're here. You start getting treatment and if it doesn't work, you can do whatever you want. But if it does work—" He gave her a meaningful look. "You need to talk to Tony."

"You think he'll ever forgive me for what I've done?"

"He loves you," Gibbs said. "And I think you love him." Ziva didn't reply, just looked out the window again. "At least try, Ziva. Think of it this way; if it's so bad right now that you're thinking of suicide, it can't get any worse." He waited for her to reply.

"Ok," she said, finally. "I'll stay."

"Are you ok with staying with me? I'd prefer that you weren't alone."

"That's fine. You won't tell anyone else?"

"Not a word." He held out his hand. Ziva gave him the gun. "Ok, then. Let's go."

Title: Searching for a Reason

Author: lunarcaterpillar

Rating: T for violence, sexual content and descriptions of torture

Spoilers: everything through Aliyah

Pairings: Tiva

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended

Chapter Thirteen

**Three weeks later**

"He's got a girlfriend," Tony said to McGee, putting his feet up on his desk.

"I doubt that, Tony," McGee said, booting up his computer. Both had just gotten to work. "He's been in an even worse mood lately. And you can't just jump to conclusions, Tony; it could be something completely different."

"Like what? And it hasn't been very long; maybe they aren't having sex yet."

"And you are basing this on the fact that his clothes smell like fabric softener?"

"I can't think of any reason why Gibbs would just out of the blue start using fabric softener; therefore someone else must be doing his laundry."

"They're not having sex but she's doing his laundry?"

"Give me another reason why Gibbs' shirts suddenly smell like lavender?"

"I find the smell relaxing," Gibbs said, coming in with a cup of coffee. When he turned his back, Tony mouthed 'late'. He had been coming in a few minutes later than he used to. Ziva had been going to outpatient treatment at Georgetown three times a week and she didn't have a car, so he took her and had to leave work for a few minutes in the afternoon to pick her up. Needless to say, this had made Tony and McGee a little suspicious. Now that the incident was over, Tony seemed to be trying to pretend that Ziva had never existed. He glared at and then ignored anyone who mentioned her name. Gibbs hadn't said or done anything to hint at Ziva staying with him. He was going to let her decide.

"Get back to work, you two," Gibbs said. "Discussing my laundry doesn't count."

"Right, boss."

"On it, boss."

The case was Navy commander's wife found strangled in the middle of a field dressed in what was discovered to be a Renaissance costume from the Renaissance fair that she had worked at. By the end of the day, they had discovered that a man who worked there as a jousting knight had killed her because she wouldn't have an affair with him. He was on his way to prison when Gibbs went to Abby's lab, with Tony and McGee following him.

"Need something else, Gibbs?" Abby asked. "I thought the case was closed."

"Just wanted to tell you good work, Abbs?" he said. He handed her a Caf-Pow and kissed her cheek."

"Gibbs! You're wonderful!" She wrapped her arms around him. "Hey, um, before you go, I just wanted to ask about, um—" She glanced at Tony; he was teasing McGee about the jester costume that Tony speculated he might wear to a Renaissance festival. "How much longer am I going to have to keep this quiet?" she asked.

"Not too much longer," Gibbs said. "Maybe even today."

"Gibbs, you know I hate hiding things from people. It's like lying without saying anything. Actually, the lying _is_ the not saying anything. It's weird when you feel like you're doing something wrong by just by keeping your mouth shut."

"Abby, it's ok. I'm going to talk to her and I think today might be a good day for it. Can you handle keeping your mouth shut for a few more hours?"

"I think so. Just get Tony out of here; every time I'm around him I feel like I'm going to explode. He looks so sad; I just want to tell him."

"Ok. We'll leave and I'll let you know what happens."

"Thanks, Gibbs." She took a long drink of her Caf-Pow and he turned to leave.

"Let's go, DiNozzo." Tony followed him; McGee stayed behind.

"What was that all about?" he asked. Abby turned to face him, looking anxious. "What's wrong, Abby?"

"Um, nothing." She took another gulp of Caf-Pow.

"Don't give me that, Abby. What's up?"

"McGee, you know how bad I am at keeping secrets?"

"Yeah."

"Well, if say you were Gibbs and you needed me to keep a secret, would you want you, McGee—who is not you in this scenario because you are Gibbs, but is you because I'm talking about what you're doing right now—here bothering me about what the secret is?"

"Gibbs has you keeping secrets from us?"

"Well, I—" Abby looked even more anxious. "It's not like he told me and asked me to keep it secret. The nuns were having a bake sale and I had bought him some cookies and took them over to his place and when I rang the doorbell—" She grabbed McGee by the shoulders. "Get out, Tim. If you don't get out I'm going to end up telling you and I can't tell you because Gibbs asked me not to! Go!" She pushed McGee out of her lab.

"Wait, Abby—" He came back in; Abby started to look threatening, as much as she could with one hand over her mouth. She pointed to the door. "Does this have anything to do with Ziva?"

Abby's eyes got huge. "You know about Ziva?" she said.

"Yeah, I overheard him talking to her on the phone once."

"Does Gibbs know you know about Ziva?"

"Don't think so. I didn't ask any questions. Is she at his house?"

"Yeah. She's been staying with him while she's getting treatment for post-traumatic stress disorder. Ok, if you know, and I know, and Gibbs knows—oh, God, you don't think Tony knows already, do you?"

Tony was sitting at his desk flicking rubber bands at the ceiling wondering what Gibbs' mysterious phone call was that he had to take over by the window. It had been going on for some time now.

Gibbs hung up and came over to Tony. "DiNozzo, can you meet me at my house in about an hour?" Tony looked surprised.

"You know, boss, if you want to introduce her to the team, you could just bring her here; we'd all be happy to—"

"Tony, you obviously have no idea what you're talking about so shut up. Be at my house in an hour." He left.

An hour later, Tony got to Gibbs' house. He rang the doorbell and Gibbs let him in.

"What's this about, Boss?"

"There's someone I want you to talk to, DiNozzo." He nodded.

"Ok."

"You're going to be surprised and probably angry, but control yourself, ok?" He went into the next room. When he returned, Ziva was with him. She looked much better, almost like her old self. Tony stared right through her.

"Hi, Ziva," he said. "So you're who I'm supposed to be shocked into a coma about or something?" She was the one who looked surprised.

"Did you know about this, Tony?" she asked him. Tony laughed bitterly.

"Knew even before Abby and Probie did," he said. "I wanted to see how long it would take you to tell me you were still here. And three weeks it is." He looked at Gibbs. "Mind if I get back to work now, boss?"

"Tony, not that it means much, but I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry," Ziva said, staring at her feet. "Three weeks ago, I wasn't thinking clearly and my decisions weren't rational."

"Yeah, I must have missed that while you were flipping out here and then ran off for the second time leaving us at the mercy of Mossad."

"They would not have harmed you. And I am sorry. Again. You must be wondering why I didn't tell you before that I was here."

"I don't care." Tony shrugged. "Haven't given it that much thought. In fact I barely think about you at all." He actually smiled at how sad she looked. "Not what you were expecting? What did you expect me to do, throw you a party? Get excited and be happy that you've been here all this time so now everything can go back to the way it always was? I'm over you, Ziva. I was an idiot for falling in love with you in the first place. I hope you don't expect me to repeat everything I said. You know, since you completely rejected me."

"I wasn't being honest with you then."

"Oh, wow, what a surprise; you were lying to me! Didn't see that one coming!" Tony yelled. "And I supposed you want to be honest now. How the hell am I supposed to know what honest is? With all the lying you've done, not to mention everyone else? I don't give a damn anymore, Ziva; I don't care if you're honest with me or not! Why am I here? I don't want to be here and I _never_ want to see or hear from you again! I'm gone!" Ziva couldn't reply; she was trying too hard not to cry. Tony refused to care. He got up to leave the room; Ziva pushed past him and ran off, leaving only him and Gibbs.

"Don't give me that look, Boss. I was just being 'honest' with her. And I was serious; I'm leaving and don't try to get me to see her again." Gibbs glared at him.

"The way this has gone," he said, in a quiet voice that scared Tony even more than him yelling. "You probably won't."

"What did you expect me to do? Am I supposed to just forgive her and let everything go? She'll just lie to me and then disappear again."

"Tony, I would like to see you go through what she has and come out normal."

"So I have to bend over backwards for her because she had a lot of crap happen to her? That's not my fault! Why should I have to deal with it?"

"Oh, stop being so damn selfish, Tony!" Gibbs snapped. "When she left three weeks ago, she was sick; really sick. Suicidal, even. The only way I could get her to even come back was to agree not to tell you. She didn't think she was ever going to get any better and if she did kill herself, she didn't want you to know. She didn't want to hurt you, Tony! She was that screwed up, but she still loved you through all that. And I know you still love her."

"I don't," Tony said. "How can you love someone if all they ever do is lie to you and run away when things are hard? Sorry, Gibbs; I don't think I can do this. I'm going to back to work." He started toward the door; before he got there, he looked the way Ziva had run. "She's safe here, right? I mean, you're not going to let her—"

"You saying you care, DiNozzo?" Tony didn't say anything. He stared after Ziva for another minute, then left.

Title: Searching for a Reason

Author: lunarcaterpillar

Rating: T for violence, sexual content and descriptions of torture

Spoilers: everything through Aliyah

Pairings: Tiva

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended

Chapter Fourteen

Tony drove back to NCIS on autopilot. There was too much inside his head and he spent most of the drive trying to work out what had just happened. He had been expecting (or even hoping) that Ziva would contact him, mostly because he had been looking forward to a little payback. Mostly. But now that he had seen her…he was back to where he had been three weeks ago. No woman could be worth this amount of confusion, right? But if there was any woman who was, it was Ziva; he knew that.

When he got back, Abby was standing over McGee's desk. They both stopped talking and stared at him when he came in.

"Hi, Tony," Abby said. "How's it going?"

"Don't start with me, Abbs; I know you just want to know how it went with Ziva."

"And?" Tony gave her a sarcastic smile.

"It was the most beautiful moment of my life and the wedding's in April?" Abby frowned at him.

"Not nice, Tony," she said. "No, seriously, how did it go?"

"She wanted to be _honest_ with me," Tony said. "Imagine that."

"So what did you say?"

"Told her that I didn't give a damn and made her run away crying." Abby's jaw dropped.

"Why?" she demanded. "I mean, yeah, she's been here for almost a month and never actually made contact with us and she shot you down when you told her you were in love with her—"

"Because I _don't_ give a damn. I don't care about her anymore!" Abby stared at him.

"You're lying, Tony."

"The hell I am! I refuse to waste my time on someone as cold and self-centered and heartless as—" He was surprised by a slap on the head from behind.

"Cut the crap, DiNozzo!" McGee said, in a tone that might even have been described as yelling. "You two are perfect for each other. And you've known that since the moment you first laid eyes on each other. You can't just forget about her; don't even to try telling us or yourself that! Yeah, what she did was wrong. But you guys are strong; you can take it. If you don't do this now, I promise you that you will regret it for the rest of your life." He exhaled deeply and then looked at Abby. "How was that?" She grinned and held up two thumbs.

"How long have you been practicing that speech?"

"Awhile. Abby and I both knew what you were going to do."

"If I wasn't using all my energy just to hold back a headslap that would land you in Antarctica, I would almost be proud of you, Probie."

"Go back, Tony. Go to her. You can't just stretch this out forever; you might not get another chance." Abby smiled. "Go."

"I wish it were that simple, Abbs." She smiled, then took him by the shoulders and started walking with him. "What are you doing?"

"Moving you in the right direction. The hardest part is getting started. I think by the time you get to the elevator, you'll know what to do."

Ziva was in the guest room at Gibbs' house, sitting on the floor, staring at the wall, wondering what to do now. She wondered why she had gone along with it. Gibbs had been wrong; now Tony hated her for what she had done. She didn't blame him. She wasn't going to leave this time, though. The treatment was working to some degree; she didn't have flashbacks on a daily basis anymore and she could get a reasonable amount of sleep without it being disturbed by nightmares and so she was sticking to the terms of the deal she had with Gibbs. For now. She might be getting better, but what happened after that? What could she do, as unstable as she now was? Every reason she had ever had for doing what she did with her life was gone. Without it…life felt very empty, like being out in the middle of the desert, without any idea which way was home. It had happened to her before, in a real physical desert, and she had found her way back, knowing that she had to get back and keep doing her job. She had no job or mission to drive her on now. So it felt like standing still, staring at a lot of sand, unable to think of where to go or what to do. She felt utterly lost.

She was still sitting there, staring at the wall while not really seeing it when she heard a knock at the door. Wondering if Gibbs had left the house and forgotten his keys or something, she went and looked through the peephole; it was Tony. She didn't open it; she really didn't feel like hearing him yelling at her about how much he hated her for what she had done and whatever else he wanted to say. He kept knocking; she went back to her room and worked on the note. Then her phone kept ringing. Finally, out of annoyance, she answered it.

"I thought you never wanted to have contact with me again!" she said. "Think of something really mean and hurtful to say to me that you just couldn't contain and you have to get out?"

"Ziva, will you let me in? Please?"

"Give me one good reason why I should."

"I went to the gym after work and I just drank about a gallon of Gatorade and I really, _really_ have to go to the head. And I'm scared to think what Gibbs would do to me if I did it outside on his property."

Feeling a certain amount of pity, being a woman, Ziva opened the door; Tony made a beeline for the bathroom. After a few minutes, he came out with a relieved sigh.

"Thank you so much," he said to her.

"Now would you like to explain why you are here and not at your apartment with your own bathroom?"

"Well…" Tony made eye contact with her for the first time since he came in the door. "I got thrown out of the squad room by an overzealous forensic scientist playing love doctor, so I went to the gym."

"And this is relevant how?"

"Well, I owe them a new punching bag and I think I fractured something when I punched through it and hit the wall." He rubbed his hand; the fingers looked bruised. "And, well, it cleared my head a little so I could think." His eyes suddenly looked serious. "I should never have said that to you. I'm sorry."

"I do not blame you, Tony. In your position, I would not have wanted to forgive me either."

"That why you were going to go back to Israel to off yourself?" Ziva looked away.

"Gibbs told you about that?"

"Of course he did. Why would you want to do that, Ziva?"

"I can't explain it to you, Tony!" Ziva unexpectedly exploded. "It's like—I just can't—you wouldn't understand."

"Probably not." He was back to serious, even sympathetic. "Doesn't mean I'm not willing to listen if you want to tell me how you're feeling."

"What makes you think I'm feeling anything?"

"You ran off crying earlier; you must be feeling something."

"I was not crying."

"Came close. I am sorry about that. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"And I didn't mean to upset you. If it was up to me, you never would have—" She eyed him curiously. "How did you find out about me?"

"Gibbs was coming in late and leaving early; I tailed him once. Didn't honestly think I would get away with it. But I followed him to Georgetown and saw him coming out with you." He smiled. "You probably would have been more gratified with the reaction I had then. Sorry to spoil your fun; you were probably looking forward to my face when I saw you." Ziva tried to smile back, then sat down with a sad, distant look on her face.

"What are we doing, Tony? I mean, what was the point of all this? So we're here, together, again." She shrugged. "Doing what? I'll tell you how I feel, Tony. I feel like…there is no point to anything anymore. I can't do anything worthwhile. I feel like I've been flung into the scrap heap somewhere and I can't live because I need a reason to and I don't have one."

"You're not worthless," Tony said. "You could never, ever be worthless." He raised his hand to put it on her shoulder.

"Tony," Ziva said, in a controlled and defensive tone. "In case it hasn't already occurred to you, I'm a little sensitive right now to people just touching me without asking me."

"Ok. Would it be alright if I touched your shoulder? You know, just like a friend would. Nothing more than that." Ziva nodded. He put his hand on her shoulder; after a momentary feeling of alarm, the physical contact was nice.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you when I said I didn't want a relationship, Tony," she said. "I never expected you to ask me again. In fact, I was kind of glad you didn't." She looked at her feet again. "_Honestly_," she whispered. "I don't think I would have been able to say no and then where would we be?"

"Really?" Tony said. "You mean you—you feel the same way? You love me?" He gripped her shoulder harder for a moment, then released her. "Sorry."

"What are you getting so excited about?" Ziva said. "I'm mentally disturbed and I don't think I could handle any kind of physical contact beyond a friendly hug. I don't think that's what you want in a relationship." Tony took a deep breath.

"I love you," he said. "Even after all this, I still love you, so I think I'll always love you. And I forgive you for lying and running away. If you think you can forgive me for killing your fiancé and acting like such an ass." He took his hand off her shoulder and held it over her hand. "May I?" he asked. Ziva nodded and he took her hand in both of his. "I'm sorry, and you're sorry. Let's be done being sorry so maybe we can actually be happy. And maybe I can give you a reason to keep living. What do you say?" Ziva couldn't believe it and just stared into his eyes for a moment. Like pools of water in the desert.

"You're sure?" she asked.

"Gibbs was right. And so was Abby and even McGee. I can't forget you even when I try." With her consent, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I think we really are meant to be together. Maybe we should stop fighting it—and each other—and, you know, be together?"

Ziva smiled. "Ok," she said. "You're ok with taking it slow?"

"Glaciers will move faster than us if it makes you happy."

"Ok, then. Care to take me out for coffee?" Tony laughed.

"Do you know what happened the last time I took someone out for coffee?"

"Ok, then. Would you like to go for a walk, look at the stars?"

"Sounds great." He was serious again. "Thank you, Ziva. I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you again." She smiled at him. "Now, let's go," he said. "I can't wait to look at the stars with you. I think I've waited long enough."

Title: Searching for a Reason

Author: lunarcaterpillar

Rating: T for violence, sexual content and descriptions of torture

Spoilers: everything through Aliyah

Pairings: Tiva

Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to CBS and DPB; no copyright infringement is intended

A/N: I actually meant to end it at the last chapter, but since I forgot to put 'The End' and people were expecting more, I thought I'd write a short little ending chapter.

Epilogue

Six Weeks Later

Tony and Ziva were still seeing each other on an almost daily basis. The relationship was moving very slowly, physically speaking. They hugged in greeting and held hands when sitting together on the sofa or out walking, but this was all they did. It wasn't as bad as Tony had thought it would be. Sure it was difficult, but it felt almost like being in a quiet, calm place in the forest after leaving the noise and chaos of the city. His own desires stopped overwhelming him and he could just be with Ziva and see all the things that he loved about her and had missed when she was gone. He loved hearing her laugh and every night found something funny to tell her from that day. When they went on walks, he couldn't believe that she knew the names of almost every bird they saw. Once she talked about the birds that lived in Israel; it was the first time she had mentioned her homeland in weeks. Injustice made her even angrier than it had before; anything she saw on TV or that Tony talked about in his cases could set her off. For awhile he had stopped talking about it and tried to steer her away from things that would upset her, but she told him not to. She needed to be angry, she said. She was still getting treated for the PTSD and the people there (she never wanted to call them therapists) told her that expression of feelings was very important. It didn't bother Tony that she got mad. He just wished she didn't have to keep feeling that pain over and over. It would be a little bit at a time, she told him, until it was lessened so much that she could function and did not have to spend all of her energy dealing with it.

That night, Ziva had made dinner and they had had a very nice evening just sitting on the couch and talking after they ate. Tony told her about how the scene that they had worked that day was in a kind of swampy area and how Palmer had ended up taking his pants off and running away screaming when a snake crawled up his leg. He also told her about a frog somehow getting into Gibbs' cap and making it all the way to the lab with him before it jumped off his head, hat and all, and landed on Bert the hippo, scaring the heck out of Abby. They spent the better part of half an hour just laughing because they were laughing at each other laughing and every time someone giggled it was a chain reaction. Finally they managed to stop.

"That was great, Tony; I wish I could have been there," Ziva said. Tony grinned.

"I like making you happy," he said. "So what do you want to do now?" She looked him very seriously in the eyes and moved a little closer to him.

"I want to kiss you," she said. Tony smiled.

"Go for it," he said. "Let me know if anything bothers you." Ziva leaned in closer and placed her hands on his face, then took a deep breath. Feeling his face, knowing that it was smooth and not stubbly, and breathing in the different smell that he had was how she reminded herself that she was with him and could focus on what was real. Then she was close enough to him for her lips to touch his. It was very hesitant at first, but then she became more comfortable and really kissed him. Tony didn't move; he didn't want to scare her and he just wanted to feel her kissing him. It was different from when he had kissed Elisheva Ben-Josef, thinking it was Ziva and even different from when he had kissed Ziva herself, several years before. He couldn't explain how. But their closeness right now, nothing more than their lip touching and her hands on his skin, it was enough. He had her and she was enough.

When she was done kissing him, Ziva leaned her head onto his shoulder and, with her permission, he put his arm around her.

"You ok?" he asked. "Feeling alright?"

"I feel wonderful," she said.

"You are." He stroked her hair. "I love being with you. And I love you." Ziva closed her eyes and rested against him.

"I love you, Tony," she said. "I don't know what I would do without you. When I'm at Georgetown, I have to remember and talk about things that are—horrible, and sometimes the only reason that I can do it is that I know that when I leave I'll be with you and you'll take care of me. You've been so good to me and I wish there was more I could do to thank you. I'm sure you want more."

"You know what I want?" Tony said. "I want you, who you are. And I've got that. So I'm happy. Not that I'm going to turn you down when the time comes. But you are worth so much more to me than your body. I really do love _you_." And he meant it, more than he thought he ever could. Ziva lifted her head and gave him a smile that seemed to come from her very soul.

"Tony…" was all she found the words for. Then she kissed him again.

The End


End file.
